


The Louvre School For Boys

by Suzie_Shooter



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Adolescent Sexuality, Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Bullying, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Grief/Mourning, Loyalty, M/M, Platonic Cuddling, Sharing a Bed, Teen Angst, chosen family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-04
Packaged: 2018-03-16 01:11:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3468860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzie_Shooter/pseuds/Suzie_Shooter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Musketeers Boarding School AU. Just because. </p><p>(Gen fic, apart from one kiss. Content warning for racial and homophobic slurs, mostly because Rochefort as a schoolboy is even more of a shit than as a grown-up, it turns out. Also, I make Athos cry quite a lot.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Porthos hesitated outside the classroom door, unsure whether to knock or just walk straight in. To have received a detention on his very first day was the subject of a certain amount of mingled embarrassment and defiant pride, but the wood panelled halls and echoing rooms of the school were so unlike anything he'd ever been used to that he felt unusually unsure of himself.

He settled for cracking the door open an inch and peering cautiously inside. To his relief the room seemed empty and he sidled all the way in, only then discovering that it had at least one occupant, another boy sitting at a desk near the window. He looked up as Porthos came in, and Porthos nodded to him warily. 

"This detention?" he muttered.

"Yes." The boy shrugged. "No one here yet."

Porthos wandered over and sat on a desk in the row in front, his feet resting on one of the seats. "I'm Porthos," he ventured. His experience of his fellow pupils thus far hadn't been what you'd call overwhelmingly welcoming, but he was friendly by nature and by this point was craving contact of any type.

The boy eyed him with a certain amount of silent suspicion before tilting his chin up in a slight nod of greeting. 

"Athos."

It was hardly effusive, but it was at least more civil than some he'd received today.

"What you in for?" Porthos pressed, still hoping to strike up a conversation. 

Athos, who'd gone back to disinterestedly staring out of the window, looked back at him with the slight sigh of someone recognising they are to get no peace. 

"I punched someone."

"You?" Porthos couldn't help his surprised reaction, the boy looked to be nearly a head shorter than him, and was pale and rather anxious looking. Although the stare he gave Porthos now had enough unexpected steel in it to make him revise his estimation.

"Yes." For a second Porthos had thought he was going to make a fight out of it, but Athos seemed to decide it wasn't worth it and there was no defensiveness to his answer. It was just a statement of fact.

"What did you do?" Athos added, hoping to steer the conversation away from his own misdeeds. Porthos grinned.

"Punched someone," he announced.

Athos looked startled, and there was a second where he clearly wondered if Porthos was taking the piss. "Really?"

Porthos nodded, and for the first time Athos ventured a slight smile. "What did they do?"

"Said things they shouldn't," Porthos muttered.

"What about?"

"What do you think?"

Athos looked him over with a frown then gave a slight shrug and shake of the head.

Porthos gave him a hard stare, but Athos seemed to genuinely not know what he was getting at, and Porthos relaxed slightly. "Look at 'em out there," he sighed, nodding towards the window. See anyone else this colour?"

Athos automatically looked down into the grounds, where crowds of children not unfortunate enough to be currently in detention were milling about. Porthos was right, apart from a couple of Asian boys the rest were all white.

"Someone was rude to you? Just because - ?" He sounded indignant.

Porthos nodded. "Funny, isn't it," he sighed, not looking at all amused. "You think boarding schools'll be full of foreign princes and stuff. But it's not, it's all posh white boys with delusions of grandeur."

Athos raised an eyebrow. "Yes. Well. Sorry."

Porthos snorted. "Present company excepted. I hope." He smiled ruefully. "So why did you hit someone?"

"Same. Well, different reason, obviously. But someone was - being unkind. Said I looked like a freak."

"So you hit him."

"Yes."

"Good for you." Porthos looked him over curiously. Athos had a scar running up his top lip, that made the curve of his mouth curl a little out of the ordinary line. It drew the eye, but it hardly made him the elephant man. Athos was fidgeting slightly under his gaze and Porthos figured the direct approach was best. "What happened to it?"

Athos shrugged. He did that a lot, Porthos was noticing. "Born with it," he muttered. "They fixed it, sort of." He hunched in on himself a little, and Porthos felt sorry for making him self-conscious. 

"Should have told 'em you got it in a knife fight," he said. " _Then_ they'd not bother you."

Athos looked up then with a surprised smile and Porthos grinned at him. Behind them the door opened again and they both tensed, expecting a teacher, but it was another boy. He was tall and thin and dark haired, and looked relieved to find the room unsupervised.

"Is this - ?"

"Detention, yeah," said Porthos. 

"Thank God, I thought I was late." He came over to them and sat in a chair a couple of desks away from Athos. He lounged in it apparently carelessly, but there was a tension to him that suggested he wasn't as relaxed as he looked.

"I'm Porthos. This is Athos," Porthos declared, before wondering belatedly if they already knew each other, but they didn't seem to.

"Aramis. Hi."

"So what did you do to deserve this?" Athos asked.

Aramis looked shifty. "I hit someone."

Athos gave a stifled snort and Porthos burst out laughing. Aramis glared at them in affront. "What?"

"Sorry." Athos smiled apologetically. "It's just - so did we."

"Oh." Aramis looked between the two of them. "Each other?" he asked dubiously.

"Nah." Porthos smirked. "We were just comparing notes." He looked expectant. "So what happened?" he prompted, thinking there wasn't much about Aramis' appearance to incite teasing. 

Aramis hesitated. "Someone stole my notebook."

Athos and Porthos exchanged a look. "Precious, was it?" Porthos asked with a hint of a smirk.

"Don't you start." Aramis propped his feet up on the next chair and hugged his knees. "It had my poetry in, okay?"

"Poetry?" Porthos couldn't help the laugh that escaped him, and even Athos looked mildly amused. 

"Bear in mind I punched the last person to take the piss," Aramis said wearily.

Porthos stood up and spread him arms. "Feel free to try," he grinned. He was just as tall as Aramis and considerably more heavily built, but Aramis didn't look fazed.

"The last one was your size too," he declared. "He still went down like a sack of shit."

Porthos, rather than being angry, looked impressed. "You seem to have come out of it okay," he noted, Aramis apparently not having a scratch on him.

Aramis smiled for the first time. "I punched him in the dick."

Porthos cackled with laughter and resumed his seat on the desk. "Well. Welcome to freak club," he said, and Aramis untensed a little, smiling questioningly at them both. 

"Are you two new?" he asked. "I've not seen you before. You're surely not first years are you?"

"No, third," said Porthos, looking at Athos, who nodded. He hadn't realised he was new too. "And yeah, first day. Not exactly my most shining achievement, to end up in detention straight away."

"I was rather hoping they'd send me home again," sighed Athos. 

"Don't you want to be here?" asked Porthos in surprise. Athos shook his head.

"My parents made me come. I didn't get a say in it. And it's awful, and I hate it." He folded his arms mutinously. 

"Give it a chance," Aramis said mildly. "It's only horrendous ninety percent of the time."

"I got a scholarship," Porthos told them gloomily. "I worked really hard to get here, and what's the first thing I do? Fuck it up."

Athos immediately looked guilty, but before he could say anything the door opened and a teacher came in. They all jumped to their feet automatically, and were given a sour look.

"Aramis, already?" The man sighed and consulted a piece of paper in his hand. "Du Vallon and la Fere?"

Porthos and Athos nodded silently. 

"Anything to say for yourselves?"

"Sorry sir," said Athos, and Porthos echoed him in a mumble.

"Hmmn." He looked at them critically, taking in their tight expressions, and suspecting the kind of comments both might have received to incite them into striking out. "Oh, go on, get out the lot of you."

"Sir?" Aramis looked surprised.

"It's the first day back, you think I haven't got better things to be doing than sit here supervising you lot? Go on, hop it before I change my mind."

"Yes sir. Thank you sir!" Aramis jerked his head quickly at the others who both still looked frozen in place, and headed for the door.

They made their way down the corridor together with the vague feeling of having escaped from jail. 

"That was kind of him," Athos ventured, when they were at a safe distance.

"Treville's one of the nicest," Aramis told him. "Lucky we didn't get Richelieu, we'd probably still have been there at midnight." 

"What does he teach?" Porthos enquired.

"Treville, or Richelieu? He's maths, Treville's PE." Aramis looked at them both assessingly. "You any good?"

"At PE?" Athos gave his now customary shrug. "I'm not bad at running. And I can ride."

Porthos looked incredulous. "Horses?"

"No, seagulls. Of course horses."

Porthos muttered something about how the other half lived, and Aramis nudged him. "Come on, you look like you should be good at sports."

"Football and the like, yeah," Porthos said. "You know. Normal stuff."

Aramis grinned. "He'll love you two then. Only thing I'm any good at's the shooting."

"Shooting?" Porthos echoed, looking alarmed.

"Targets. Not each other," Aramis clarified with a grin, and Porthos glowered at him.

"Yeah, 'cause I'm from the ghetto, obviously."

Athos elbowed him. "Don't be an arse, he didn't mean that. You did look worried."

"Bloody lost mate," Porthos conceded with a sigh. "Out of my depth here."

"Better learn to swim then, eh?" Athos held his gaze with a slight smile, and Porthos found himself smiling back. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad here after all.

\--

It was the middle of the night when Porthos woke in desperate need of a wee. He was in a dormitory of six boys, and had been pleased to discover that one of them was Athos. They'd picked beds next to each other at the far end, with Athos' against the wall.

Porthos peered through the darkness now, trying to make out his sleeping form. The only noise was the quiet breathing and occasional snoring of the boys around him, but the corner seemed too quiet. He sat up, and the moonlight showed an empty bed.

Assuming that Athos had woken with the same pressing need, he slipped out of bed and padded down the corridor to the bathroom, but it was empty. Having relieved himself, Porthos was making his way back when a noise caught his ear in the silence.

He froze and listened intently until it came again. It sounded like a sniff, stifled but unmistakeable. He tracked it to a curtained alcove and pulled back the drapes.

Sitting curled on the window seat in his pyjamas, with a miserably tearstained face was Athos.

"Go away," he hissed immediately, turning his face away and scrubbing at his cheeks. 

Porthos slipped inside and let the curtain fall back to hide them. "What's wrong?" he whispered.

"Nothing. Fuck off and leave me alone."

"Doesn't look like nothing," Porthos persisted. He sat down next to him and nudged Athos gently with his shoulder. This close, he could feel he was shivering. "How long have you been here?"

Athos sniffed and wiped his nose. "Couldn't sleep," he muttered. 

"What's wrong?" Porthos coaxed. "Come on, tell me. Maybe I can help?"

"Hardly." Athos sighed, then gave in. "It's just - I've never been away from home before, okay?" he admitted, flushing slightly. "Not without my family, anyway. I've never felt so - alone."

"Oh. Right." Porthos made his mind up and put his arm round Athos' shoulders. Athos glared at him in prickly fashion for a second, then apparently decided the warmth was worth the humiliation, and wriggled closer. Porthos squeezed him reassuringly. "You're not alone," he murmured. "Okay?"

At this point the curtain was pulled back and they both jumped, only to relax again when they found it was only Aramis.

"What the hell are you two doing out of bed?" Aramis demanded in a whisper. "You'll get into trouble."

"Look who's talking," Porthos retorted. 

"I was only going to the loo."

"Well close the curtain again and no one'll see us," Porthos pointed out. 

To his surprise, Aramis did, but with himself on the inside of it. He sat down on the other side of Athos and frowned. "Is everything okay?"

"Athos is homesick," Porthos said before Athos could reply, and he glared at him, embarrassed.

"Aren't you?" Athos asked in an undertone. He hadn't exactly got the impression Porthos had been to boarding school before either. "Don't you miss your family?"

Porthos shook his head. "Haven't got one to miss."

Athos and Aramis looked at him in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Orphan, ain't I? Parents died when I was little. Grew up in a selection of children's homes mostly. So no, being here's no different to be honest. Bit posher, admittedly." He grinned, but Athos felt awful.

"I'm so sorry."

"Why should you be? Don't be daft." 

"Going on about my family like that. It was thoughtless."

"Well you weren't to know, were you?" Porthos hugged him closer. "I mean, I hardly remember them. Be different if I'd only just lost them I s'pose," he added, missing the fact that this for some reason made Athos look more miserable than ever.

"Come on," Porthos said. "Let's get back to bed. Aramis is right, we don’t want to get a second bollocking on our first day, do we?"

They bid Aramis goodnight and scurried off to their respective dormitories. Athos was glad after all to crawl back into the warmth of his bedclothes, and this time fell asleep quickly, reassured by the unexpected comfort of his new friends.

\--

On the way to breakfast the next morning, Athos and Porthos fell instinctively into step with each other. Athos was yawning his head off; accustomed to rolling out of bed and staggering off to school on half a mug of tea with his tie half undone, the concept that he might be expected to be up and dressed and have his bed made all before breakfast, and this all at least an hour before lessons were due to start, was abhorrent.

Consequently he was grumpy as hell, and responded to Porthos' cheerful good morning with a sulky grunt. Porthos just grinned. Athos might not be a morning person but he'd automatically joined Porthos without having to be asked, and Porthos found the knowledge that he'd made at least one friend here to be more comforting than he could say.

Neither of them referred to the events of the night before, and by the time they reached the hall Athos had perked up a little, either from the enticing smell of bacon or the fact Porthos hadn't mentioned his embarrassing little moment of weakness.

The hall was full of the clatter of plates and buzz of conversation, and Athos hesitated in the doorway, overwhelmed by the noise and volume of people. Porthos though, grabbed him by the sleeve and towed him with unerring accuracy towards the right queue, only letting go when he was sure Athos was following.

Trays suitably loaded, they spotted Aramis sitting by himself at a table at the far end of the hall, and after an exchange of looks and a nod, they headed over to join him. It occurred to Porthos they hadn't actually had a conversation yet this morning, but it also felt strangely like they hadn't stopped talking. Following Athos between the tables he smiled to himself. Having someone to be protective of made Porthos feel more confident here himself, while at the same time having the comforting sense that Athos would have his back too.

Aramis looked up in surprise when they pulled out chairs opposite him. 

"Mind if we join you?" Athos asked, sitting down anyway.

"Er - no, of course not." Aramis glanced round the room, almost nervously, Porthos thought.

"We promise not to get you into trouble," Porthos told him with a smirk. "At least not before breakfast."

Aramis shook his head. "It's more that - you might not want to be associated with me," he muttered.

"What are you talking about?" Athos drawled, head bent over a cup of coffee as if hoping the fragrant steam might wake him up without actually having to drink it.

Aramis sighed. "Doesn't matter. You'll no doubt find out soon enough."

"Can't be doing with cryptic on an empty stomach," Porthos complained, tucking into the plateful in front of him. "Tell us what we've got to look forward to today. We've got maths and French and then double PE after lunch."

Aramis nodded. "Maths is Richelieu, like I said. He's strict, but he's okay if you're any good at it." Porthos looked dismal, and Aramis snorted. "Yeah, me neither. French is Bonacieux, he's a pushover. Then you've got Treville." Aramis glanced out of the window where a persistent drizzle was beading the glass. "He'll almost certainly inflict cross-country on us. First day back see, I think he likes to try and kill off the weaker boys early so he doesn't have to bother with them." He smirked, but Porthos wasn't particularly convinced he was joking.

"You gonna eat that?" Porthos asked Athos, who'd managed about one rasher of bacon and gone back to nursing his coffee.

"Help yourself." Athos pushed his plate across. "I can't eat this early, it makes me feel sick."

"You get used to it," Aramis said. "After about a week of strictly timed meals you're grateful for anything you can get. It's not like they're stingy, but there's no snacking in between times."

At this alarming news, Porthos switched his empty plate for Athos' and hastily started in on the rest of the abandoned breakfast. Athos fetched a second cup of coffee instead, and as he walked back to the table was conscious of eyes watching his progress.

"Who's that?" he asked in a low tone as he rejoined the others, indicating the adjacent table with a discreet jerk of the head. "He's staring at me."

Aramis glanced over and quickly away again. "Rochefort. His father's a comte. He's just a cunt."

Porthos choked on a mouthful of sausage and the corner of Athos' mouth twitched up in a smile. "Really?"

Aramis sighed. "Well, I don't know. You might like him, who am I to make your mind up for you. A word of warning, he's Richelieu's favourite, so you probably don't want to make an enemy of him." Aramis stared into his mug of tea, rather forlornly. "He can make your life hell," he added quietly.

\--

They were making their way out of the hall when someone detached themselves from a group of boys lingering outside the door, and planted himself directly in Athos' path.

Looking up, he wasn't terribly surprised to find it was Rochefort. Athos was conscious of the anxiety rolling off Aramis in waves, and of Porthos at his shoulder, ready for trouble. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for the other boy to speak first, curious as to what he wanted.

Rochefort, for his part, let his eyes skim briefly over Aramis and Porthos and dismissed them quickly as being beneath his attention. He smiled at Athos, slow and arrogant and full of confidence. 

"Vicomte de la Fere, am I correct?"

Athos felt Porthos stiffen at his side, and Aramis turn to stare at him in surprise. He sighed inwardly. He'd been hoping nobody had to know he had a stupid title.

"Yes. Can I help you?"

"It's more that I think I can help you," Rochefort purred. "A new school can be disorienting for the smartest of people, and it's not always easy to find the best set." He gestured vaguely to the gaggle of boys hanging onto his every word. "Perhaps you would care to join us?"

"Thank you for your concern," said Athos politely. "But I am quite happy where I am."

Rochefort just managed to contain an open sneer at the thought of Athos' companions being suitable. "I've been watching you," he continued silkily. "That little spot of trouble yesterday. You handle yourself very well."

Athos stared back at him levelly. "I'm not sure if you were intending that to sound as creepy as it did, but if so then well done." He made to move off, and Rochefort stopped him with a hand on his chest. Athos' cold glare made him drop it again, and Rochefort immediately puffed himself up, irritated by the fact he'd backed down in front of his friends.

"You're making a mistake," Rochefort declared. "You don't want to hang around with Aramis. You'll get a certain - reputation." He slid a poisonous look at Aramis as he said this, and the boys around him sniggered unpleasantly.

"Does everyone talk in riddles here?" Athos demanded, quickly losing patience.

Rochefort seized on his obvious confusion. "He hasn't told you then? Tut tut d'Herblay, and you making out you're so proud of yourself. Waiting your chance for a quick fondle in the showers were you?"

Athos, assuming Rochefort was just being tedious and unpleasant, was surprised when Aramis turned and walked off in a hurry, looking mortified and miserable. He turned back to Rochefort and glared at him.

"What are you on about?"

"Poofter, isn't he. Your 'friend' there. Queer as a - " Rochefort's sentence was cut off abruptly as Porthos shoved him so hard in the chest that he fell back against the wall.

"Get your filthy hands off me! Don't you know who I am?"

Athos laid a restraining hand on Porthos' arm, conscious of a group of teachers making their way out of the hall. "Your mistake appears to be largely in assuming we care who you are," he informed Rochefort coolly. "Come on Porthos. The air's fresher outside."

Porthos followed him out, grumbling. "Who does that little shit think he is? Just because daddy's some kind of - " he broke off and transferred his glare to Athos as he remembered the morning’s other revelation. "And you kept that quiet, didn't you?"

Athos shrugged uncomfortably. "Maybe because I didn't want you looking at me like you are right now," he murmured.

Porthos produced a noise of disgust that was somewhere between a snort and a growl, but he stuck at Athos' side as they marched round the perimeter of the building, looking for Aramis.

They finally found him on a bench overlooking the playing fields, hunched up against the cold. At least the drizzling rain had stopped for a moment, but the wind was biting.

They dropped down either side of him, and Aramis looked surprised then uneasy.

"I told you, didn't I?" he muttered. "You don't want to hang around with me."

"Yeah, but we're ignoring you," Porthos told him. "And if the alternative's mateying up with Rochefort, I'm happy to be sat here in bummer's corner, to be honest."

Athos stifled a snort of surprised laughter. "Porthos!"

"What?"

Athos shook his head, looking both amused and appalled. "Nothing." 

Aramis was looking from one to the other with a cautious hope. "Rochefort's right you know," he said after a second. "Just so we're clear."

"What, about you being after a quick fondle in the showers?" Athos suggested dryly, and Aramis looked shocked.

"No! I meant - look, I'm gay, alright? And I'm not ashamed of that fact, no matter what that rat bastard says." He sighed, and slumped over with his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. 

Porthos patted him gently on the back. "We know what you meant," he said.

"And we don't care," Athos added. "I mean - we don't mind." He glanced at Porthos, who nodded approvingly. They hadn't exactly discussed it, but the fact they'd both acted on the same impulse suggested they were of one mind in this.

"Rochefort - " Aramis started.

"Will have a harder time making three lives a misery than one," said Athos firmly.

"He'll see it as a challenge," Aramis warned.

Porthos stretched his legs out in front of him and folded his hands behind his head. "Bring it on." 

\--

After that, the morning passed in relative tranquillity. They got their first look at the infamous Richelieu, whom Porthos hated on sight and Athos, rather better at maths in the first place, decided he had a cautious respect for. 

Bonacieux, as Aramis had suggested, proved to be utterly useless at keeping order, and spent most of the lesson being sent up by Rochefort, who persisted in asking a series of increasingly stupid questions in a baffled and terribly serious tone of voice. Bonacieux got more and more flustered as he tried to answer each one in increasingly simplistic terms without the slightest inkling that his student was taking the piss, and it was all the rest of the class could do not to start laughing and give the game away.

Athos, Porthos and Aramis watched this with mixed feelings. It was a relief to have Rochefort's rather nasty attentions fixed elsewhere, but at the same time it felt like a betrayal of something to laugh at his antics. They did their best to follow the lesson, haphazard as it was, and filed out to lunch afterwards feeling unsettled.

Since the morning's encounter, Rochefort had not spoken directly to Athos again, but as they ate their midday meal all three could feel that the eyes of Rochefort and his gang of cronies were on them.

"He's up to something," Porthos muttered, sneaking a glance at the other table. "You mark my words."

"He's always up to something," Aramis sighed. "Let's just hope it doesn't involve us."

\--

The afternoon saw them all herded out into the great outdoors with varying degrees of protesting complaint. It was cold for September, particularly when you'd been forced to exchange your nice warm uniform for shorts, and even the sportier members of the group were looking unenthusiastic as Treville put them through a series of warm-up exercises.

"Wait for it," Aramis muttered. "He'll drop the bad news any second now."

Sure enough, the afternoon's activity was revealed to be a cross-country run, information that was met by a considerable amount of groaning. 

Treville eyed them all without sympathy. "And just to make things a little more interesting - " He folded his arms and stared at a point somewhere above their heads. "And to ensure there's no slacking, the last man back has to go round again."

The level of groaning and incredulity went up, but Treville was implacable and seeing he meant it, the group of boys hastily started off.

The course lay out across the playing fields, down a country lane and then curved back through some woods, describing a broad circuit around the school. It was tagged with white markers at various intervals, and was for the most part at least relatively flat.

At first the three of them ran together, but by half way round Porthos was visibly lagging behind. Athos was clearly bursting to forge ahead, and as they entered the woods Porthos laughed at him.

"Go on, bugger off, I'm holding you back. I'm built for stamina not speed."

"Are you sure?" Athos looked round at him, torn, but Porthos waved him away.

"Go on, both of you. I'm better at my own pace, I'm less likely to rupture something. And it'd be nice for at least one of us to make a good impression at something."

Athos gave him a sudden grin and took off in a burst of speed. For a while Aramis kept pace with him, and they overtook several knots of other boys before Aramis too fell back with a wave and let Athos run on on his own.

He pounded on, enjoying the burn of it, the pull in his legs and the cold air in his lungs. Even the splash of mud up his legs in the damper sections of the trail didn't bother him, and for a blissful few minutes he was running completely alone in the wood, with dappled sunlight on his face and no cares in his mind.

Coming out of the wood and back into the school grounds, he saw the leaders up ahead, and followed them at a distance, using them to check the route. When they rounded the corner of the main building and the playing fields were once more in sight, he drew on a last burst of strength and passed them at speed. 

Vaguely conscious of the dirty looks he was drawing from them, Athos put his head down and concentrated on the last stretch, thumping to a stop just past Treville and his stop watch and bending over to get his breath back.

"Not a bad time." Treville nodded in something that was almost approval, and Athos flushed.

"Thank you sir."

The group Athos had just passed ran up, and he braced himself for angry words, but to his surprise a couple of them even congratulated him.

In ones and twos the rest started making it back, and Athos was relieved to see Aramis come round the corner, fetching up before him a minute later, flushed and panting.

"Wasn't so bad," Athos smirked, and Aramis looked at him disbelievingly. 

"You're insane. I'm dying." He coughed, and Athos slapped him on the back. 

"You did better than Porthos, anyway." He looked up each time more boys appeared on the final straight but there was still no sign of him. 

As the numbers still out there dwindled to just a few, Athos and Aramis started exchanging uneasy glances. Porthos hadn't been anywhere near the back when they'd left him, but at this rate he was in danger of being the one to have to run the whole course again.

"Do you think he's alright?" Athos muttered. "He can't have got lost, surely?"

Aramis shrugged helplessly. "The course is marked well enough. And it's not exactly treacherous."

A noisy scrum of boys rounded the building and broke into a half-hearted jog, having clearly been walking while they were still out of sight. It was Rochefort and his hangers-on, and Athos glared at them in resentful anger. Their arrival put Porthos firmly last, and there was still no sign of him.

Ten minutes crawled by and even Treville was starting to look concerned, when finally a lonely figure came into sight and ran tiredly up to them.

Athos' initial sense of overwhelming relief was abruptly curtailed when he saw the state Porthos was in. Plastered with mud all down one side and covered in what looked like bramble scratches, Athos didn't miss the filthy look Porthos gave Rochefort as he ran past him.

"What happened?" Athos demanded in an undertone, as he and Aramis clustered around Porthos in a protective huddle.

"Fucking Rochefort shoved me down a bank in the wood. Ended up in a ditch," Porthos told them from between gritted teeth. "I never saw him coming."

Athos swung round to glare at Rochefort, who affected surprise at Porthos' appearance.

"Oh dear, is that mud all over him? I couldn't tell at first," Rochefort smirked.

At the implied slur Athos saw red, and was on the brink of hurling himself bodily at Rochefort with the possible intention of scratching his eyes out when Porthos grabbed him by the arm.

"Ath, no."

"You can't let him get away with that!" Athos hissed, turning back to him in fury.

Porthos shook his head tiredly. "You can't go for him in front of Treville, you'll only be the one to get in trouble."

"But - " Athos faltered helplessly, full of indignant rage on Porthos' behalf, and half embarrassed and confused that he seemed to be angrier about it than Porthos. 

Porthos half-smiled at him, guessing his awkward turmoil. "Thanks though," he whispered. 

Treville came up to them and looked Porthos over. "What happened to you?" he asked. "We were about to start sending out search parties!"

"Fell in a ditch sir," Porthos said, ignoring the scandalised looks Athos and Aramis were giving him. "Sorry sir."

Treville stared at him searchingly. "Well," he said finally. "Rules are rules I'm afraid. You'll have to go round again."

"Sir!" Athos protested, and Treville gave him a level gaze.

"Did something happen? If there were - mitigating circumstances - ?" he let the suggestion hang in the air and Athos looked pointedly at Porthos, who shook his head.

"No sir. Just careless sir." 

"Well, off you go then."

Porthos hung his head. It had been a long day, and all he wanted to do was have a hot shower and preferably a nap before dinner. "Yes sir."

Legs feeling like lead, he started running, and it was a couple of paces before he realised Athos was running next to him.

"What are you doing?" he asked in surprise.

"Keeping you company," Athos told him shortly. From somewhere behind them came a groan of equal parts despair and frustration, and then in a scuff of gravel Aramis was running to catch up.

"You don't have to do this," Porthos told them.

"Shut up and run," Aramis panted. Porthos grinned at him, rendered temporarily speechless by their unlooked for actions.

"You should have told Treville," Athos persisted, as they ran out across the playing fields. 

"I'm no snitch," Porthos objected. "Would you have?"

Athos looked uncomfortable. "No, I suppose not. Still, we'll get Rochefort back for this. I promise."

They were running through the woods to the side of the school when Athos came to a sudden stop, peering down a muddy trackway that lead off at an angle. Porthos and Aramis, heartily glad of the rest, came to a panting halt beside him.

"That leads back to the school right?" Athos said thoughtfully. "It must come out by the kitchens somewhere?"

Aramis leant on Porthos' shoulder, wheezing slightly. "Yeah, but we can't take a shortcut. Treville knows how long it takes to go round, if we miraculously turn up in half the time he'll know we cheated."

Athos shook his head. "I wasn't thinking of cheating. I was thinking of taking a detour." He looked at them and gave a sudden bright-eyed grin they hadn't seen before. "You two go on. Wait for me just inside the woods, I'll catch you up." With that, he plunged off down the path, twice as fast as he'd been running before.

Porthos and Aramis looked at each other in bemusement.

"Now what's he up to?" Porthos wondered.

Aramis shrugged. "Beats me. Still, gives us a chance to walk for a bit eh?"

Porthos grinned, and they resumed their progress along the track at a more sedate pace. 

A quarter of an hour later they were standing at the edge of the treeline, waiting for Athos and wondering which direction he would come from. Speculation as to where he'd gone had got them nowhere, and while the respite from running was heartily welcome now they were standing still they were getting cold.

Five minutes later footsteps behind them heralded his arrival and Athos arrived redfaced and out of breath. 

"Hey." 

"What have you been doing?" Porthos demanded, but Athos shook his head. 

"You'll see. Come on, let's get in." With that he took off again, leaving them to follow him in frustrated confusion.

\--

Athos remained tight-lipped about his diversion for the rest of the evening, and they eventually gave up pressing him. All he would concede was to mutter something about not spoiling the surprise, and they went to get ready for bed still mystified and expectant.

Aramis was in a different dormitory from Athos and Porthos, across the corridor, and as they said goodnight there was a sudden commotion from one of the other rooms.

"Was that Rochefort?" Aramis asked in surprise. There'd been a yell of what sounded like horrified dismay. They all crowded into the third dorm and found Rochefort standing over his bed, looking incandescently angry.

Athos craned to look over Aramis' shoulder and wrinkled his nose. "Ugh, Rochefort's shat his bed," he said in a loud voice, and immediately the crowd of boys surrounding them cracked up hysterically.

"Who the fuck said that?" Rochefort looked round wildly. He'd pulled back the bedclothes to discover a thick smear of something brown and revolting looking all over his sheets.

"Oh, you haven't!" This came from one of Rochefort's supposed friends, and he glared at him furiously. 

"Of course I bloody haven't you moron! Somebody's done this - "

"Are you sure it's not yours?" Porthos asked delightedly, guessing that this was what Athos had been up to. "They say dogs return to their mess." He gave Rochefort a sudden shove in the back, and he almost fell into the bed.

Saving himself with his hands at the last second, Rochefort frowned and leaned down closer to take a cautious sniff. This caused a fresh outbreak of disgusted hilarity around him, but he straightened up looking icy.

"It's not shit," he ground out tersely. "It's mud. Wonder where that came from?" He looked hard at Porthos, who grinned at him.

"You accusing me?" Porthos demanded. "Be careful Rochefort."

"What's going on here?" 

Everyone jumped as Treville appeared behind them. 

"Someone's made a mess of my bed sir," Rochefort said immediately. "I think it was Porthos."

There was a collective indrawing of breath at this accusation, and even Rochefort's friends looked disgusted with him, particularly those who'd been party to what happened to Porthos in the first place and appreciated the fact he hadn't grassed them up.

Athos stepped forward, ready to own up immediately rather than see Porthos take the rap for something he hadn't done, but Aramis got there first.

"It couldn't have been Porthos sir, he's been with me all evening."

Treville looked at him gravely. "You give me your word you had nothing to do with this?"

"Cross my heart sir. You know Athos and I went with him for the re-run, and I swear Porthos never left my sight from then to now," Aramis said carefully. "We've not set foot in here."

"Porthos?"

"Weren't me sir. I promise. Wish it had been, to be honest."

This got a laugh, although Treville remained stonily impassive. "Very well. Rochefort, I suggest you go and find Matron and ask her for some fresh sheets."

Rochefort looked stricken. "But sir! She'll think I've - " he tailed off miserably.

Treville raised an eyebrow. "Matron Bonacieux is not a judgemental woman, I'm sure you'll cope," he murmured, and stared at Rochefort until he sighed and walked off obediently.

Treville looked round at the rest of them. "I imagine it's futile asking for the culprit to come forward, but know that I will not tolerate bullying," he said in a serious voice. "Of anyone. Am I clear?"

There was a chorus of guilty sounding 'yes sirs', and he shooed them all off to bed.

As they were getting into their pyjamas, Porthos nudged Athos and winked at him. "Thanks," he whispered. "That was genius."

Athos flashed him another of his sudden smiles. "Told you we'd get him. I reckon being laughed at's about the worst thing that could happen to him."

"He'll be out for revenge," Porthos warned. "We'll have to be careful."

"We can take him," Athos said dismissively. "What's the worst he can do?"

Porthos looked at him thoughtfully, remembering Athos' secret misery of the night before and wondering if his words meant simply that he was already in hell and nothing could make it worse.

"Will you be alright tonight?" he asked in a low voice. 

Athos frowned and then blushed as he took Porthos' meaning. "I'm fine," he muttered awkwardly, then seemed to reconsider and looked up, with a slight smile. "I reckon after all that exercise I'll be knackered enough to go straight to sleep," he said. "Maybe that's the answer, two laps of the school grounds before bed."

Porthos laughed. "Rather you than me mate." He climbed into bed, and Athos did the same, and they smiled across at each other in the seconds before the lights were doused.

\--

As the term got into its swing, both Athos and Porthos settled into the routine of life at the school with varying levels of comfort. Athos had few problems with the lessons, even though he rarely seemed to be paying attention, and to Porthos, who struggled rather more this would have been a source of resentment if not for two things. 

Firstly, Athos was more than willing to spend his evenings going back over things until Porthos understood them, with a quiet patience and a complete lack of condescension that meant Porthos was never embarrassed to ask. And secondly, that despite the fact Athos seemed to be having an easier time than he was, Porthos knew he was still passing miserable nights. 

More than once Porthos had woken in the night to hear the sound of muffled crying from the next bed, and he didn't know what to do about it. Athos had rebuffed any attempts he made to talk about it during the day, and since the first night hadn't ventured out of bed after dark, so Porthos couldn't confront him then either. Part of him wanted to talk to Aramis about it, but Aramis slept in a different dorm and to bring it up without Athos' permission felt like too much of a betrayal.

He wondered what was wrong. On the face of it Athos seemed entirely self-possessed and resilient during the day. The teachers seemed to like him well enough, and Porthos was fairly sure Rochefort couldn't be putting the squeeze on Athos without him and Aramis being aware of it. Could it really be that he was still homesick? For all that Athos had claimed that on the first night, he never talked about his family, never regaled them with tales of his home life like Aramis did, who had countless siblings and seemed to spring from a nest of semi-organised chaos.

So when Porthos woke one night about three weeks into term and caught the now familiar sound of hushed sniffling in the dark, he'd already made up his mind. Slipping noiselessly out of bed he crossed the short gap and climbed in behind Athos.

"What-?" Athos' hushed cry of alarm was quickly stifled as he realised who it was.

"Shh. It's only me. Shift up."

"What are you doing?" Athos hissed furiously, startled and embarrassed.

"I'm cold. You're warm. Shut up and go back to sleep," Porthos muttered, sliding an arm round Athos' waist and settling down firmly beside him.

For a moment Athos lay there tense and uncomfortable, debating making a fuss, then surrendered with a sigh. He turned his back on Porthos and they wriggled wordlessly into a more mutually comfortable position. 

Gradually, Athos relaxed. No one else appeared to be awake to notice what had happened, and while Porthos' claim of being cold was an obvious lie, it had let him save face. Porthos in fact was incredibly warm, and Athos found the tight band of tension in his chest finally easing as he drifted into sleep.

\--

When Athos woke the next morning he discovered that Porthos was back in his own bed, and wondered for a disorienting moment if he'd dreamt the whole thing. But then Porthos caught his eye and gave him a quick smile, and Athos knew he hadn't.

As they got dressed, Athos sidled across. "Thanks," he muttered in an undertone.

Porthos looked up, surprised. He'd assumed Athos would make no mention of it, had made sure he was safely out of the way before anyone else woke up, including Athos.

"Any time," he murmured back, and Athos gave him a half-smile of awkward gratitude before hastily going back to his dressing. 

\--

It was nearing the end of October. The evenings were drawing in, and the boys spent most of their downtime in the common room, waging a perpetual silent battle with Rochefort's lot to be the ones to take possession of the corner nearest the fireplace each night. 

Despite keeping a wary eye on him, Rochefort had so far made no attempt to do anything else particularly awful to them, although they were under no illusions that he considered them anything other than mortal enemies now. A rocky truce was felt to be in place, at least for the moment. 

There seemed to be no reason, then, for the fact that one day towards the end of the month Athos seemed to be in a complete funk from the moment he awoke. Snappish and monosyllabic, even more than was usual for him of a morning, he went downhill as the day went on, brushing off all concerned queries from Aramis and Porthos and almost getting a detention from Bonacieux of all people, such was his level of complete preoccupation throughout all their lessons.

At lunch he barely ate a thing, and when dinner time came around he was nowhere to be found. Aramis and Porthos ate their own in worried haste, wondering where he'd got to. A search afterwards came up blank - he wasn't in the common room or study carrels or library, he wasn't in the dorm or any of the bathrooms. A discreet sneak past the matron's office revealed all was in darkness and therefore he probably hadn't been taken ill. An attempt to call his mobile only told them it was turned off.

"Where the hell is he?" Aramis asked, frustrated and worried. They were sitting on Athos' bed in the deserted dormitory, Porthos having come up with the suggestion that Athos might have run away home - except all his clothes and belongings were still in place, including his outdoor coat.

Porthos looked uneasy. "It'll be lights out in less than an hour. If he's missing then it'll be noticed."

"You don't think he went for a run do you?" Aramis wondered. "What if he fell over in the dark or something? He might be lying out there in the woods, injured."

Porthos looked unhappy, but rummaged through Athos' wardrobe until he found his shorts and trainers. "I doubt he's running in his school shoes. I don't think he's gone far, wherever he is."

"But we've searched everywhere."

"Everywhere that's not out of bounds."

They looked at each other and sighed. "Come on," said Aramis, getting to his feet. 

"Do you think he's in one of the classrooms?" Porthos asked, not relishing the idea of searching them all at this time of night.

Aramis was staring out of a window at the outbuildings ranged behind the school. A light blinked out in a window, and he tried to work out which one it belonged to. "I think I know where he is," he said suddenly. He lead Porthos downstairs at a run and they snuck out of a side door, aware that if they were caught outside at this time of night they'd both be in deep trouble.

They hurried between patches of shadow, hoping no one was looking out of any of the windows in their direction, until they made the relative safety of the stable block. Inside it was warm, smelling sweetly of straw and horses, the restive shifting of the animals the only sound.

"Athos?" called Aramis in a low voice. "Athos, are you in here?"

Athos had spent quite a lot of time here over the past few weeks, tending to retreat to the horses whenever Aramis or Porthos weren't around for some reason. He hadn't been able to bring his own to the school, but he still found being around them comforting.

There was a scuffling noise from further in and they moved cautiously up the row, shining a torch into the darkened stalls as they went. In the end stall, slumped in the straw next to a big black horse that was nuzzling his shoulder in apparent concern, was Athos.

"Athos!" Porthos dropped to his knees in the straw, grasping his arm anxiously. "Are you alright? What are you doing out here?"

Athos mumbled something incomprehensible, head lolling to the side. Porthos frowned. "Are you ill?"

Aramis crouched down next to them, and his foot hit something half buried in the straw. He pulled it out, shining the torch on it in surprise. It was an almost empty bottle of brandy.

"He's not ill," Aramis said in bewildered disgust. "He's drunk."

"Ath?" Porthos cupped his face and made Athos look up at him. "What the hell you playing at? Have you really drunk all that? Where'd you even get it?"

"Kitchens," Athos mumbled. He was blinking weakly in the torchlight, and clearly couldn't hold himself up.

"Are you insane? You could kill yourself drinking that much!"

"Don' care." Athos slipped sideways into the straw, not even trying to stop himself falling. 

"What do you mean you don't care? Don't be stupid." Porthos shook him angrily, and Athos tried to wriggle away from him, moaning quietly. Porthos looked at Aramis in frightened alarm. "What do we do?"

"We need to tell someone," said Aramis heavily. "He might need his stomach pumped or something. He's not eaten anything all day either."

"We can't." Porthos stared at him. "Nicking alcohol and getting wasted? They'll expel him!"

"Good," muttered Athos from down near his feet, and Porthos glared at him.

"Shut up you. You've lost the right to have opinions." He caught at Aramis' sleeve as he tried to get up. "We can't tell. We can't."

Aramis sighed, giving in. "Fine. Then he needs to throw up. Everything. And we need to get him back in before he's missed - before we're all missed." He stood up. "Get him outside. We need to get rid of the evidence too." He hefted the bottle in his hand thoughtfully. "I'll slip this back into the kitchens, and bring him out some water." 

"They're going to notice it's empty," Porthos pointed out, trying to get his hands under Athos' armpits and lever him up.

"Then I'll break it," Aramis said, thinking on his feet. "With any luck they'll think it just fell off the shelf. They won't know how much has gone." With that he ran off into the darkness, taking the torch with him and Porthos growled in belated protest.

Athos groaned, and Porthos looked down suspiciously. "If you're sick on me, I'll smack you," he warned. "Come on." He got Athos' arm over his shoulders and staggered out into the fresh air with him.

Tucked safely away from prying eyes at the rear of the stables, Porthos let Athos sag gently to the ground and watched as he immediately threw his guts up without prompting.

Porthos sighed, crouching beside him and rubbing his back as Athos spent the next few minutes wracked with shaking misery.

When it finally seemed like there was nothing left to come up, Porthos guided him back to sit propped against the back of the building, keeping an arm round him.

"'m sorry," Athos slurred, leaning against him miserably.

"Why'd you do it Ath?" Porthos muttered under his breath. "I thought you were getting on alright here. You really want to be kicked out that much? And why this? You could have poisoned yourself, especially drinking that muck."

"I just didn't want to have to think any more," Athos said sadly. Before Porthos could ask what he meant, Aramis appeared and he called to him quietly.

"We're over here. Watch your step an' all, if you value your shoes."

"Ugh." Aramis picked his way carefully over and sat down on the other side of Athos, handing Porthos a two litre bottle of water. "Here. This should help."

Porthos poured some into his handkerchief and wiped Athos' face before holding the bottle up for him to drink from. "Here. Get as much of this down you as you can."

Protesting but eventually obedient, Athos swallowed about half a pint then promptly threw it up again. Once more, Porthos nursed him through it, then hugged him reassuringly afterwards. "Again."

This time, Athos drank more slowly, and kept it down.

"We need to get him inside," Aramis said, checking his watch. "Or we'll all be for the chop."

"Can you walk?" Porthos asked. Athos shook his head. "Tough."

Together, they hauled Athos to his feet and helped him back through the grounds and up the rear stairs. They were just in time to bundle him into bed still half dressed before Treville came through counting heads prior to lights out. Aramis was scolded for being out of his dorm and scurried off at a nod from Porthos, trusting him to keep an eye on Athos throughout the night.

As soon as all was dark and quiet Porthos slipped out of bed again and knelt by Athos', finding that he'd already passed out. He sighed. The drama of the last hour hadn't left him much time to dwell on Athos' reasoning, but now he was wondering just what was wrong, and so bad that Athos couldn't have confided in them.

Porthos climbed back into bed, determined to stay awake and watch over Athos in case he was ill in his sleep - and promptly fell fast asleep.

\--

Porthos was woken in the small hours by someone stumbling about near his bed, and sat up wearily. It was Athos, he realised, disoriented and trying to find his way out in the dark.

"Athos? You okay?" he hissed.

"I think I'm going be sick," Athos said, his voice thin and panicky. Porthos groaned and hastily got up, grabbing him by the arm and guiding him out to the bathroom, where for the third time that night he watched over Athos retching his guts up. During a break in proceedings, Porthos slipped back to the dorm and fetched both their dressing gowns and the rest of the bottle of water.

"Here." He draped the robe round Athos' shoulders and cleaned him up again. They sat on the cold tiles for a long while, Athos shivering convulsively and Porthos rubbing soothing circles on his back. He was furious with him, and scared for him, and sorry for him, and feeling tired and irritable and helpless, and right now this was all he could do, so he'd do it all night if he had to.

This close Athos still smelt of alcohol, and Porthos didn't think it was from the vomiting. When Athos was recovered enough to stand, he dragged him into the showers and made him get in, testing the temperature himself and then standing implacably in the way with his back turned until Athos had been in there for a good ten minutes.

When Athos was dried and dressed in his pyjamas, and had managed to clean his teeth without throwing up, and drunk some more water, Porthos finally let him get back into bed.

Athos curled in on himself, still shivering, and with a silent but fluent string of curses, Porthos climbed in behind him.

"I'm sorry," Athos whispered after a while. "I fucked up."

"Shhh." Porthos hugged him. "Apologise in the morning when I can yell at you properly." To his relief, Athos gave a twitch of laughter, and he relaxed for the first time all night. Maybe things would be okay after all.

\--

 

In the morning though, it was clear they weren't going to be able to hide Athos' weak and wretched state any longer. He was simply incapable of getting out of bed, dizzy and sick and aching from head to toe, and Aramis was reluctantly dispatched to fetch the school matron.

Porthos crouched by the bed and flicked Athos painfully on the cheek until he opened his eyes. 

"You've got a migraine, okay?" Porthos hissed, too low for the rest of the curious boys in the dorm to hear. "It'll explain the headache and the sickness. A migraine, yeah? Are you listening to me?"

Athos managed a nod, and pulled the covers over his head. Porthos grunted despairingly and went to get dressed. Athos was prone to migraines, so if they were lucky it would be a plausible cover story - there'd been at least three evenings so far that term that he'd spent in misery with a damp towel over his face, lying stretched out on the common room sofa with his head in Porthos' lap. Up to now he hadn't missed any lessons though, so hopefully they wouldn't be too hard on him.

Aramis and Porthos, with no excuse to stick around, had to go off to breakfast and leave Athos being escorted to the school's sickbay. They spent an anxious day worrying about him, and as soon as lessons were over, sneaked up to the medical suite.

They knocked on the door of the outer office, whose sign proclaimed "Matron: Constance Bonacieux" and waited nervously for her to open it.

"You shouldn't be up here," she scolded upon seeing them, although not too fiercely, seeing their worried faces.

"Please Matron, may we see him? Just for a bit?" Aramis pleaded, and Constance gave in.

"Go on then. But don't wear him out. Ten minutes, alright?"

They found Athos sitting up in a bed by the window, although the curtains were closed against the night. He was the only occupant, and to their relief looked pleased to see them.

Aramis took the chair, and Porthos perched on the side of the bed.

"How are you feeling?" Aramis asked softly.

"Like hell."

"Good," Porthos declared, before Aramis could reply. "Bloody serves you right." His relief at finding Athos apparently okay was spilling out as helpless anger, although he kept his voice down.

"Porthos - " Aramis protested, seeing Athos flinch, but he wouldn't be deterred.

"No. What the fuck were you thinking?" Porthos demanded. "Were you trying to top yourself? Or just get yourself expelled? What about us, eh? Did you think how we'd feel if we lost you? Did you?" His eyes were gleaming with the threat of unshed tears, and Athos looked at him miserably.

"I'm sorry," he breathed.

"No. Fuck apologies. I want explanations." 

Athos looked down at the bedspread and Porthos wondered belatedly if he'd gone too far. He reached out and covered Athos' hand with his own. "What happened, Ath?" he asked more gently. "Tell us, you moron."

Athos glanced up briefly and almost managed a smile. "Your bedside manner sucks, you know that?" 

"Bite me."

Athos did smile then, although it was a fleeting burst of light before the clouds gathered again as he reflected on the previous day's events.

"Yesterday - was my brother's birthday," he said quietly.

Porthos looked at Aramis who shrugged, looking as mystified as Porthos felt. Clearly, as explanations went, this was lacking for both of them.

"I didn't know you had a brother?" Aramis ventured.

"I haven't." Athos sighed. "He died. In the summer."

"Oh. I'm sorry." Aramis felt that was rather inadequate, but didn't really know what else to say. "How old was he?" Assuming an elder sibling in the armed forces or similar.

"Eleven."

A shocked silence followed this, and Athos finally looked up at them. "There was an accident. He died a couple of months before I came here. In fact - it's why my parents sent me here," he finished quietly.

"I don't get it," said Porthos, confused. "Why would they send you away after something like that?" No wonder Athos was hurting.

Athos' hands shook where they rested on the covers, and he looked down again. "Because they couldn't bear to look at me any longer," he blurted. "Because they thought it should have been me who died."

"No." Porthos was shaking his head vehemently. "No, that's awful, they could never want that, they're your parents Athos! Why would you think something like that?"

"I don't think it, I know it," said Athos in a small voice. "My mother said it. I heard her."

Porthos gaped at him. "But - not to you, surely?"

Athos shook his head. "To my father. The night it happened. I couldn't sleep - how could I sleep? I came downstairs again, and heard them talking. She was upset - and I think she was drunk - I hardly blame her for that. But I know she meant it. People are more honest when they're drunk, aren't they?" He sighed. "I don't blame them," Athos repeated. "They were right. It should have been me. Thomas was always the perfect one, you see."

"Fuck that," Porthos burst out indignantly, then cast a guilty look towards Constance's office. "Nobody's perfect," he added rather more quietly. "And you've got as much right to live as anyone!"

Athos looked at him. "He was everyone's favourite, Thomas," he said sadly. "Beautiful, even as a baby." 

"Bollocks," Porthos objected. "All babies are fugly."

"I certainly was," Athos sighed. "I suppose it must have been a shock, giving birth to your first baby, and finding it's horribly disfigured."

"You're not!"

Athos shrugged. "Like I said, they fixed me. Sort of. But Thomas was perfect from the start. And everyone loved him. He was happy, outgoing, cheerful." Athos' mouth twitched in something that might have been a smile. "Nothing like me."

"I hate him already," Porthos growled.

"Were you jealous of him?" Aramis asked, wondering if perhaps this was where some of Athos' anguish was coming from. Athos shook his head though.

"When he was a baby, maybe. But I couldn't hate him. He even liked me." Athos sniffed, and hunted hastily under the pillow for a tissue. "He'd follow me round. We were friends." He blew his nose, and took a deep breath. 

"And then he died, and everything changed. They sent me away, and I thought I was coping, but yesterday would have been his birthday, and they didn't so much as call me." Athos was crying in earnest now, silent tears that he was barely heeding. "Not a letter, not a phone call. Not so much as a text to ask how I was doing, not a single shred of concern that I might be having a hard time of it as well." He buried the heels of his hands in his eyes and tried to sniff back the tears. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I just - I couldn't stand it any longer. I wasn't trying to kill myself, I promise, I just didn't want to think about it any more."

By now Aramis was on the bed as well and they both held him tightly between them.

"It's okay," Aramis murmured, because when it came down to it, what else could they say? "It's okay."

"What I don't get," said Porthos, when Athos' sobs had died down, and they were sitting either side of him, wedged onto the narrow bed. "Is why you wanted to go back to the bunch of ungrateful bastards so much."

Athos gave him a watery smile, and shrugged. "They're my family, and I missed them," he said simply. "They were all I had."

"Not any more though?" said Aramis, and took hold of his hand. Porthos immediately took hold of the other, and squeezed it. 

"Not any more," Athos agreed, smiling at them both.

Having overstayed their allotted time by at least twice as long as they'd been given, Aramis and Porthos were sneaking out past the matron’s office when Constance appeared in the door and beckoned them in with a stern finger.

They stood before her, and her expression spoke volumes.

"Did you hear all that?" Aramis ventured. He'd wondered why she hadn't come to turf them out before now, and suddenly wondered if she had, and had overheard Athos' explanation.

"Most of it," Constance said carefully. Then - "It's not a migraine, is it? Did Athos - take something?"

They glanced at each other but said nothing, and she slammed her hand down on the table, making them jump. "This isn't a game! I need to know. If he took something, and I've been giving him painkillers on top of it - look, I'm not interested in getting him into trouble, okay? I just need to know the truth so I can give him the best help." 

They looked at each other again, and this time Porthos nodded and Aramis sighed. 

"He didn't take any pills or anything," Aramis said. "It was cooking brandy. You're right, it's not a migraine, it's a hangover."

"Oh God," Constance breathed, looking both relieved and exasperated. "How much did he have?"

"Nearly a whole bottle."

"A whole - " She broke off, shaking her head in horror. "You should have told me. You should have told me last night. Do you understand?"

"Yes Miss," said Aramis, the picture of contrition.

"Is he in trouble?" Porthos asked, less so.

Constance shook her head. "Not from me. Go on now, get to dinner." She shooed them out, and walked slowly back through the ward room to Athos' bed.

He looked up at her, having heard the mutter of voices in the other room, and guessed the source. 

"They told you, didn't they?" he said tiredly.

"I left them no choice," Constance said softly. "Don't be angry with them."

Athos shook his head. "I'm not." He smiled faintly. "I don't deserve them."

Constance smoothed down the covers, and Athos watched her. "Am I in trouble?" he asked after a while.

"Do you want to be?" Constance countered. It was a serious question, gently put. While she had no intention of getting him into trouble for what he'd done, particularly having heard the reasons for it, at the same time if he was determined to get himself expelled there was a worry he might do it again, or worse. And if he was truly that unhappy here, then perhaps he would be better off at home after all. But it was his choice.

Athos regarded her equally seriously, and considered. Thinking, for the first time, about what he would be leaving behind here if he went home. What he would be giving up. 

"No," he said finally.

Constance smiled at him. "Good. Then just promise me one thing. You won't do it again."

Athos half-laughed. "After this I don't think I want to touch the stuff again ever in my life."

It was Constance's turn to laugh. "Maybe not for a few years, at least eh? And then do us both a favour and stay off the cooking sherry."

"Brandy."

"You what?"

"It was brandy." Athos lay down and now there was an amused glint in his eye as she tucked him in. "I do have some standards."

\--


	2. Chapter 2

Athos was still missing from breakfast the next morning, but to Porthos and Aramis' delight, he was waiting for them in the classroom for the first lesson. Pale and rather quiet, he at least raised a smile at their enthusiastic greeting, and seemed none the worse for his ordeal.

It was lunchtime before they got a chance to properly quiz him, and they retired to a corner table away from potential eavesdroppers. Athos pushed his food around a bit, then sighed. He could tell they were both bursting with questions, but also trying hard not to hassle him, and he appreciated the effort.

"Go on then," he muttered. "Ask me."

"Are you in trouble?" Porthos asked immediately. 

"What did she say? We didn't drop you in it did we? I'm really sorry if we did," Aramis added hastily.

Athos smiled faintly. "No, I'm not in trouble. I think she figured I'd been punished enough, the way I was feeling."

"Did she know why you did it?" Porthos asked, unsure exactly how much of their conversation Constance had overheard.

Athos nodded, fidgeting with his knife and fork before pushing the plate away entirely. It was a measure of Porthos' concern that he didn't give it a single hopeful glance.

"We - had a long talk, actually," Athos admitted.

"Did it help?" Aramis ventured. "What did she say?"

Athos hesitated for a long moment. "She thinks - I should talk to my mother about it. Tell her how I'm feeling. That I need to clear the air, and talk out any - misunderstandings." He enunciated the word carefully, as if it was distasteful in his mouth.

"Do you think that would help?" said Porthos, dubiously. In his experience, grown-ups generally managed to make things worse, and from what he knew of Athos he couldn't picture anyone less comfortable talking about their feelings.

Athos sighed. "The trouble with adults is they all think other adults are somehow going to be reasonable. She didn't say it in so many words, but I got the impression she thought I'd mis-heard, or overreacted. She doesn't know what it was like. Those months before I came here - life at home, was - " he broke off. "Not good."

"Then you're in the best place." Porthos patted his hand, then looked embarrassed and cleared his throat. Athos smiled at him. 

"Yeah," he said softly. "Maybe I am. And - thank you. Both of you. For looking after me."

"Just don't do it again, eh?" Aramis pleaded. "You'll get the lot of us expelled, and then where will we be?"

"Fucked," said Porthos, and made them both laugh.

\--

A week passed. Athos spent a couple of days seeming even more withdrawn than usual, then suddenly appeared to turn a corner, and threw himself into life at the school with a renewed vigour. He finally agreed to join the running team that Treville had been pestering him to sign up for all term, and started not just paying attention but actively engaging in the lessons.

Startled but pleased with this new and unprecedented turn of events, Aramis and Porthos couldn't help teasing him about it.

"Where's Athos and what have you done with him?" Porthos grinned, jostling him in the corridor after a lesson in which Athos had actually voluntarily taken part in a debate, and wiped the floor with Rochefort's opposing arguments to boot. 

Athos actually smiled at him. "I finally figured it out. I can spend my life moping, or I can make the best of it. So this is me, making the best of it." He shrugged. "It still hurts," he admitted, in a lower voice. "But I'm shutting it away now. I've found I can choose not to think about it all."

"Is that wise?" Aramis asked, concerned for him.

Athos looked at him. "It works," he said simply. "It lets me function."

Not everyone was so taken with this new, improved Athos though. Rochefort watched his evolution into something approaching star pupil sourly, and with bad grace. While Athos had remained a surly nobody, Rochefort had been able to largely ignore his existence as being beneath his notice. Now though, as far as Rochefort was concerned, Athos was getting above himself. 

The final straw came when Athos came unexpectedly top in a maths test, and garnered some rather surprised and begrudging words of praise from Professor Richelieu. 

"Well, I'm glad to see you've finally started paying attention, la Fere. May you keep it up. See, Rochefort, the dangers of resting on your laurels?" 

He swept on, either oblivious to the look of seething hatred Rochefort was now giving Athos, or possibly entirely pleased with it. Engendering a healthy spirit of competition between the boys, that's what got results.

Rochefort watched Athos and his friends walk out ahead of him, and fixed all three with a determined stare. Athos needed bringing down, and he'd find a way to do it if it killed him. Somehow, somewhere, there would be a weak link in his defences. There always was.

\--

Two days later, the three of them were leaving the dining hall after supper when Rochefort detached himself from a knot of boys in the corridor and sauntered over to them.

"What do you want?" Porthos demanded immediately. After the events in the wood, Rochefort got his hackles up just by existing, and an open approach like this could mean no good for any of them.

"Oh, look, Athos has got himself a guard dog," Rochefort sneered. 

"Piss off Shitfer," Aramis retorted, and Rochefort flushed. If he ever found out who'd come up with that nickname after the sheet incident, he'd rip their throat out. He mastered himself, deepening the sneer. He could afford to let it pass. He had information now that would rip that smug look right off Athos' face.

"Oh, two guard dogs. Yes, well, you would need them, wouldn't you. Wouldn't want nasty people making you cry now, would we?"

Athos frowned at him, exasperated. "Rochefort what do you want? Because if it's just to be annoying could you possibly go and do it somewhere else?"

"Aww, is poor little Athos going to cry? How's your brother by the way, oh! Wait, I forgot, he died didn't he? Was it just to get away from you?"

Athos froze. "How the fuck - ?" he forced out through gritted teeth.

"How did I know? Oh, I know lots about poor little crybaby Athos," Rochefort jeered, conscious now of the crowd forming around him. "More than you think. Maybe your friends aren't as trustworthy as you believe. Is it true, your mummy sent you away? She must have hated you a lot."

Rochefort rocked back on his heels, waiting with vicious glee to see the effects of his words. In the corner of his vision he could already see Aramis and Porthos turning furious glances on each other, but Athos' reaction was the only one he cared about.

He was to be disappointed. Athos looked at the ground for a second, then raised his head to look Rochefort coldly in the eyes.

"Yes. You're right. My little brother was killed, very recently. It's been very painful. I can't imagine how anyone could find that in any way amusing, but it says a great deal about you, and I hope everyone is paying attention. Oh, and the fact that after everything I've been through, you think something as pathetic as your words, could hurt me? You are nothing to me."

The silence in the hall was enough to hear a pin drop. Athos pushed his way through the crowd and out towards the entrance lobby, Aramis and Porthos hurrying after him a second later.

"Athos! Athos, wait!" Aramis called out desperately, and to his relief Athos stopped, although he didn't turn around. They caught up with him, panting. 

"How did he know?" Athos asked bleakly, staring straight ahead, not looking at either of them.

"It wasn't me," Porthos said desperately. "Athos, you can't think that!"

"Well it wasn't bloody me either," Aramis objected. "Why the fuck would I tell Rochefort of all people a thing like that?"

"I don't know." Athos didn't sound angry. He sounded broken. 

"Athos - "

"Tell me how he knew then," Athos interrupted. "Because you two are the only people I've told any of this. Tell me, how he could possibly know!" The last two words were yelled with a fury that was harsh enough to make them both take a step back, and by the time they'd recovered themselves Athos had pushed through the front doors and slammed them shut in their faces.

Aramis and Porthos looked at each other, shaken and wary.

"It weren't me," Porthos said in a low voice. "I swear to God."

Aramis shook his head. "Well I know it wasn't me."

They held each other's gaze, both pleading and defiant, suspicion gradually relaxing into a tentative trust. 

"We should go after him," Porthos said finally. "God knows what he's thinking right now."

"Agreed." Aramis lead the way outside. It was a cold night, and they both shivered.

"Tell me he's not run right off," Porthos groaned, as they scanned the driveway and playing fields to no avail. Athos tended to use running as a way to clear his head, and if he'd disappeared into the woods they'd never catch him.

"No. I bet I know where he is." Aramis set off at a fast jog, and Porthos gave a brief huff of laughter as he realised where they were going.

The stables were dark, and Aramis closed the door behind them, checking all the shutters were closed before turning on the electric light.

Sure enough, Athos was huddled in the end stall, trying to make himself as small and inconspicuous as possible.

"You need a new hiding place," Aramis declared cheerfully, climbing over Athos' legs to drop down on the straw next to him.

Porthos settled on his other side, wondering privately if Athos had come here knowing they'd be able to find him. He hoped that was the case, because it meant perhaps things weren't irretrievably broken between them.

"It wasn't us told Rochefort," Porthos said quietly, nudging up against Athos with his shoulder.

"You can't truly believe we'd betray you like that," Aramis added softly. "To him of all people."

"Then how does he know?" Athos asked stubbornly. He wouldn't look up, but the fact he was talking to them at all and hadn't tried to leave, they both took as an encouraging sign.

"I don't know," Aramis sighed. "Is there absolutely no one else who knows? No one else at the school that knows you from home, maybe?"

Athos shook his head. "Perhaps you think he's in league with my mother," he said bitterly.

"What about Matron? She knows," said Porthos suddenly.

"She wouldn't tell anyone," Athos objected.

"Oh, so you trust her without needing proof?" Aramis said, stung. Athos just put his head down on his knees miserably, and Porthos glowered over his shoulders at Aramis.

"Maybe Rochefort overheard her talking?" Aramis persisted. 

Athos shook his head. "It wouldn't explain how he knew I'd been crying," he said in a small voice. "I didn't tell her that part."

Aramis blinked. "I didn't know that either. I thought he was just being an arse."

They both looked at Porthos, who looked back at them with an injured expression that slid into utter dejection. "So now you both think it was me. Fucking fantastic."

Athos sighed. "I want to believe you. I really do. I just can't think who else could have told him."

"If you've been crying - at night?" Aramis ventured. "Maybe it was one of the other boys in your dorm?"

Athos and Porthos exchanged a look. 

"No," said Athos. "If it was one of them who'd seen, he'd have known the other stuff too."

"What other stuff?" Aramis asked, bewildered and slightly hurt that apparently even now there were things Porthos and Athos had shared without telling him.

Athos fell quiet, and Porthos cleared his throat. "I've been - getting in with Athos. When he was bad. Sleeping in his bed with him." He rubbed a hand over his face. "If Rochefort had got wind of that he'd have made mincemeat out of us both. Better story than a dead sibling any day." He realised what he'd just said and could have bitten his tongue off. "Sorry, Ath."

Athos, face once more buried in his knees, gave a noise that might have been a sob, but equally might have been an appalled laugh. Porthos rubbed his back tentatively, and was heartened when Athos didn't pull away.

"What do we do?" he sighed.

"We figure it out," Aramis said. "That bastard's not smarter than three of us. Athos, think. Have you told anyone else, anyone at all? Could Rochefort have overheard you - I don't know, on the phone or something?"

Athos shook his head, but then a second later went still.

"What is it?" Porthos asked, feeling the change in him. "Have you thought of something?"

Athos sat up. "Maybe. I need to make a phonecall."

Porthos obligingly fished in his pocket and produced a mobile. Athos and Aramis stared at him in surprise. 

"Where'd you get that?" Athos asked.

Porthos shrugged. "It's mine."

"Yes I can see that, I just meant - you handed it in. I saw you." The boys were only allowed their phones for certain periods each day, and Athos and Aramis' were currently languishing in a box on Richelieu's desk.

Porthos grinned. "You thought you saw me give it in." He did something complicated with his hand and the phone disappeared again, only for Porthos to apparently produce it from Aramis' jacket pocket.

"Do you do rabbits too?" Athos asked dryly, but he looked impressed despite himself. 

Porthos stuck his tongue out, but he tossed Athos the phone.

"Thanks." Athos got up and wandered off, and a few seconds later they heard the rattle of the door as he went out.

"Can you teach us to do that?" Aramis asked, more openly admiring than Athos.

"S'pose." Porthos relented and gave him a tired smile. "Do you think we'll be okay?" he added, jerking his head in the direction Athos had gone.

"I hope so." Aramis rubbed his eyes. "If Rochefort wanted to cause trouble, he's certainly got his wish."

"We can't let him win." Porthos chewed his thumbnail anxiously. "Why can't Athos just trust us?"

"I think he does," Aramis said quietly. "At least, he wants to. He wouldn't even be talking to us if he didn't."

They shifted closer together for warmth, and waited for Athos to come back. When he did, he looked grimly determined. 

"I need your help," he said quietly. "Both of you."

"Anything." Porthos got to his feet and hauled Aramis up after him. "Have you figured it out? Who were you calling?"

Athos shook his head. "Let's see if I'm right first. Here, thanks." He gave Porthos his phone back, and Porthos resisted the temptation to look up the number he'd dialled.

"What do you want us to do?" Aramis asked.

"I need one of you to keep an eye on Rochefort, and someone to keep watch while I break into his stuff."

Despite the fact being party to such an act could easily get them all expelled, both boys nodded immediately, and Athos half smiled. "Thank you," he said softly, and turned to walk out.

"I'll take Rochefort," Aramis said quietly. "You go with Athos."

Porthos nodded. It felt like of the two of them, the weight of suspicion was more on him, and he would do whatever it took to prove himself to Athos.

Aramis settled himself with a book in a corner of the common room, where he could see Rochefort and his gang without appearing to watch them. Rochefort spared him a single mocking glance and proceeded to ignore him, although Aramis felt like a lot of the laughter was coming his way. Presumably Rochefort felt he'd succeeded in breaking up their friendship. Aramis prayed he wasn't right.

Upstairs, Athos stationed Porthos in the doorway to Rochefort's dorm room, and went to work with a penknife and wire until he managed to force the lock on Rochefort's nightstand.

"Where'd you learn to pick locks?" Porthos asked, leaning in and watching with interest.

"Shut up and keep watch!" Athos hissed. Porthos hastily went back to standing guard, and Athos smiled briefly at his back. "Our gamekeeper," he said. "Ex-poacher. Taught me a lot of handy things."

Porthos snorted. "Trust you to have a fucking gamekeeper. Do you live in a castle?"

"I live here now," Athos said, and turned his attention to going through Rochefort's things.

A few minutes later Porthos heard a bang, as if Athos had hit something. 

"Motherfucker!"

"Athos? You alright?" When there was no answer, Porthos took a last look down the deserted corridor and hurried into the room. Athos was sitting on the floor, staring at a piece of paper in his hand.

"What is it, what've you found?" Porthos peered over his shoulder. "Hang on, isn't that your writing?"

"Yes." Athos dropped his hands into this lap, as if he didn't have the strength to hold them up any more. "I wrote home. I thought about what Constance said, about talking things through, but I've never been good with speeches. So I wrote it all down. How I was feeling, how sad I was. All of it." Athos looked up at him miserably. 

"They never got it. I called home, just now, to check. It never arrived. I left it in the office for posting a couple of days ago. Rochefort must have seen me, and lifted it out of the tray." Athos' hands were shaking, and Porthos gripped his shoulder. 

"Come on, let's get out of here."

Athos made to put the letter in his pocket, but Porthos stopped him. 

"Leave it here. Keep him guessing. Don't let him know you know." 

Athos stared at the letter, unwilling to leave such a raw account of his feelings in the hands of his worst enemy. 

"He's already read it," Porthos reminded him. "And we can deal with this."

Nodding finally, Athos put everything carefully back as he'd found it and they hurriedly left the room. Downstairs, Porthos wandered into the common room, catching Aramis' eye and giving a slight nod. Aramis left it a few minutes, then got up and followed him out.

They were waiting in the corridor. 

"Well?"

"Not here." Athos glanced warily back towards the common room.

"Stable?" suggested Porthos. The others nodded.

"Stable."

They snuck outside again, this time having the presence of mind to take their coats. Soon they were huddled in the end stall once more, back where they'd started.

Athos explained about the letter to Aramis, who was all for marching back in and punching the shit out of Rochefort there and then.

Reluctantly, Athos restrained him, although there was a certain amusement to his expression that had been missing all evening, as he contemplated the image.

"We'll get him back," Porthos promised. "He won't get away with this. Why don't we hide vodka in his locker or something and tip off the teachers?"

Athos shook his head. "I don't want to frame him, I want to nail him for something he's actually done. He's bound to give us scope eventually." He looked down at his hands and sighed. 

"I'm sorry," Athos murmured. "That I ever doubted you both."

"Well, what else could you think?" Aramis said philosophically.

"It's exactly what he wanted you to think," Porthos added. "He screwed us all over."

"Still. You were right. I should have trusted you." 

"Hey." Porthos draped an arm round him and gave him a hug. "Shut it, okay?"

Athos looked sideways at him, and then Aramis, and produced a lopsided smile. "Okay. Thank you. Both of you. Again." He gave a sad laugh, and they both promptly punched him in the arm.

"No feeling sorry for yourself," Aramis instructed sternly. "That's an order."

"Yeah, cheer up," Porthos told him. "We've got a weasel to catch."

"Will you write it again?" Aramis asked after a moment. "The letter to your parents, I mean?"

Athos shook his head. "If this has taught me anything, it's that admitting your feelings is only going to get you hurt. Rochefort's an arse, whatever he says can only go so deep. But it got me thinking. What if my mother's response had been similar? What if - if this big reconciliation Constance put in my head never happened, if my family just told me to - I don't know, pull myself together or something? It would be so much worse." He wiped his eyes, and looked away, cross with himself for breaking down yet again. "So no. No more sadness, no more feeling sorry for myself. I shall stop caring what people think. I shall stop caring altogether."

Aramis and Porthos exchanged a look over his head, and wordlessly both shuffled closer to him, until Athos had a warm body pressed up against each shoulder, silently comforting.

"Show us that trick with the phone," Aramis said to Porthos after a few seconds had gone by filled only with Athos' snuffly breathing. 

"Yeah, alright." Porthos obliged, and they spent the rest of the time before bed engaged in clumsy attempts at magic tricks, tucked snugly together in the stable. And if Athos was quiet, he at least joined in, and even smiled a few times, and they took that as a victory.

\--

It was a dry but cold Saturday in December, and Aramis and Porthos were ensconced on a bench at the top of the slope above the playing fields. Below, Treville was putting the cross-country team through what he called training and Athos called fucking torture, although only when he was well out of earshot.

Porthos and Aramis, swaddled beneath heavy coats and sharing a tin of biscuits that Aramis had been sent for his birthday the week before, decided they had very much the better deal.

"What gets me is that he does this shit for fun," Porthos observed, watching Athos narrowly avoid falling over a less fortunate team mate who'd just tripped headfirst into the muddy grass. "What does he get out of it?"

"Endorphins?" suggested Aramis. 

"And a sense of porpoise?"

Aramis threw a biscuit at him. "Not dolphins you twat."

Porthos fielded the biscuit neatly and grinned at him. "Thanks."

"He says it clears his head," Aramis mused, turning back to look at the figure in white running kit slogging back and forth across the pitch. "Helps him think. Or not think, I suppose."

"Do you reckon he's okay?" 

Aramis shrugged. After the last upset with Rochefort, Athos had remained stonily quiet on the subject of family. Outwardly he seemed happy enough, but Aramis and Porthos sometimes sensed a contained rage about him.

"I was surprised he didn't go home at half term," Aramis said. "After all that."

"Said his parents were overseas." Porthos, who had no parents to go back to and had been anticipating a deadly dull week on his own, had been pleasantly surprised to find Athos was staying on.

"I know." Aramis looked sideways at him. "Do you believe him?"

Porthos sighed. "Dunno. No reason to lie, I suppose. I mean, it's not like he's ever said what they do?"

"No. I guess." Aramis absent-mindedly took another biscuit and went back to watching Athos. "He'll go home for Christmas, I presume."

"That'll be a bundle of laughs," Porthos said darkly. "First one without his brother? Christ."

"Mmn." Aramis looked up suddenly as a thought occurred. "What will you do?"

"Me? Stay here."

Aramis looked shocked. "What?"

"Well, not like I've got any family to go home to, is it?" Porthos seemed sanguine about it all, but Aramis felt guilty. He'd known Porthos had no parents, but he'd always had a vague idea that there would at least be some extended family in the picture somewhere. 

"You've no one?" Aramis asked hesitantly, not wanting to cause offence or hurt. "No, like - foster parents, or anything?"

"Nah. No one wanted me." Porthos shrugged. "Grew up in a succession of homes. Guess someone else has got my bed by now."

"That's - awful." Aramis, who came from a family network that spread over three adjoining counties, found it hard to comprehend. 

"Is it? Can I start on the second layer if you feel sorry for me?" Porthos asked, smirking.

Aramis snorted and lifted the plastic liner out of the tin obligingly. Porthos grinned at him.

"Thanks. And - I guess you don't really miss something you've never had. There'll be a few others staying here over the holidays. Kids whose parents really are abroad." Porthos looked down at where the training was breaking up, and Athos had started jogging towards them. "I'm here for the duration, now."

"Hey." Athos reached them, sweaty and out of breath, and they made room for him on the bench. 

"Biscuit?" Aramis offered.

"He's in training, he's not allowed," Porthos grinned.

"Piss off." Athos grinned back, and took two. His face was glowing from the cold air and the exertion, and his hair was windswept and tangled. He pushed it back from his face, and Porthos snorted.

"You need a trim." He kept his own short, almost buzz-cut. Claimed it was easier to look after that way, not admitting to anyone that it was so people like Rochefort had no chance to make digs about his hair being different from everyone else's. In contrast, Athos' hair always seemed slightly too long, regardless of when he'd last had it cut. 

"Maybe you should try it in bunches," Aramis offered. "Plaits, perhaps."

"I refuse to take part in your milkmaid fantasies," Athos smirked, stealing another biscuit.

"Milk _man_ , surely," Porthos corrected, and they all cracked up at the inadvertent change of image that conjured up.

"Porthos has got nowhere to go for the holidays," Aramis told Athos suddenly, ignoring the look of indignant embarrassment Porthos gave him.

Athos looked round, to Porthos' deep relief without a trace of pity in his expression.

"I can ask my parents if you can come and stay with me if you like?" he offered immediately. "I can't promise it'll be any fun though," he added gloomily. 

"I'll be fine here," Porthos objected uncomfortably. 

"Probably wise. Although I admit the company would have been nice." Athos gave him a wistful smile, and Porthos suddenly wondered if after all this time away, Athos was scared to go home, or of what kind of welcome he'd find there.

"Well." Porthos shoved his hands up the sleeves of his jumper to warm them up. "Do you think they'd mind?"

Athos considered. "I don't know. But I can ask. Would you like me to?"

"Yeah, go on then." Porthos worried briefly that he sounded grudging and ungrateful, but Athos just nodded. That was one of the good things about him, Porthos thought. There were so few wasted words or unnecessary embellishments in his own speech, that Athos never minded brevity in others.

"If they say no, I'll ask mine," Aramis added. "Probably won't even notice one more at the table. Advantages of a large Catholic family," he laughed.

Porthos smiled at them both, a sudden lump in his throat from the knowledge that they not only cared enough to worry about him, but to try and do something about it. Was this what having family was like, he wondered. Better, maybe, given that Athos' family only seemed to cause him pain, and Aramis', while loving, was too big to give him much individual attention. 

Chosen family, then. Family that had chosen him, as much as he'd chosen them. 

Porthos had to dash away the suspicion of a tear with his sleeve, and pretended it was due to the cold wind. "Can we go in now? I'm freezing my nuts off here, and Athos is going to get pneumonia now he's stopped running."

They gathered up the coats and biscuits and trudged back into the school. In the hallway, a group of boys was gathered around the noticeboard, and the three of them wandered over to see what was going on.

A poster had appeared declaring that there would be a Christmas Ball held in the last week of term, to be co-hosted with the school's sister establishment, St Anne's School for Girls. 

The interest this provoked was somewhat tempered by the paragraph at the bottom, announcing that in the lead-up to this, mandatory dancing lessons would be held for an hour before dinner each night of the week before.

"What the fuck?" Porthos grumbled. "They can't be serious? Not actual ballroom shit?"

Athos snorted and clapped him on the back. "It's not so hard."

Porthos stared at him disgustedly. "Oh, you would be able to fucking do it. Little Lord Pantaloon."

Athos' grin widened. "You'd better believe it. I can foxtrot the fuck out of you."

"You can Foxtrot Oscar." Porthos looked round in hope of support. "Hey, Aramis, tell me you can't - " he faltered, looking up and down the hall in confusion. Aramis had gone.

\--

They finally tracked Aramis down in a corner of the library, head bowed over a notebook that he hurriedly shoved into his pocket when he saw them approaching.

"Whatcha doing?" Porthos dropped into the seat next to him, and Athos perched on the table.

"Just homework," Aramis muttered.

"Oh, great, can I have a look?" Porthos asked innocently. Aramis looked briefly trapped, then sighed as he realised Porthos knew perfectly well he'd been writing angsty poetry. 

"Leave me alone," he muttered.

"What's up?" Athos enquired. "You were fine half an hour ago."

"Nothing. Maybe I just wanted to be on my own for a bit."

Athos and Porthos exchanged a look. 

"Oh, we'll leave you in peace then," Athos said.

"Yeah. You only had to say if you didn't want us around," Porthos added. 

Neither of them made the slightest move to leave though, and Aramis sighed. "Fine. It's the ball, okay? I just think the whole thing will be hateful."

"Don't worry, no one's going to make more of an arse of themselves dancing than me," Porthos said. "I'll make everyone else look like professionals."

Aramis shook his head. "It's not that. It's just - the whole girls school thing. Why did they need to do that?"

"Well, we'll need someone to dance with?" Athos ventured.

"I'm gay, remember?" Aramis snapped.

"Shouldn't you like dancing in that case?" Porthos retorted, and Aramis punched him so hard in the arm that even Athos winced. Aramis hid it the best, so they tended to forget he was generally the most homicidally inclined of the three of them.

Porthos just rubbed his arm placidly, and Athos frowned. "It's a dance, not a market. No one's going to suddenly marry you off against your will." 

"I shouldn't have to dance with girls just because society says so," Aramis complained. "I have principles."

"Principles are overrated if you ask me," Porthos smirked.

"Besides, likely no one will even want to dance with us," Athos said. "We can spend the whole thing hiding in a corner and taking the piss out of Rochefort."

"I bet he can dance," Porthos grumbled. "He hates being bad at anything. And he's one of your lot, isn't he?"

"Don't lump me in with him," Athos objected. "Besides, that doesn't stop us taking the piss."

"True." Porthos grinned, and even Aramis looked mollified. Porthos clapped him on the shoulder. "It'll be fine," he declared. "You'll see."

\--

The first lesson was held the following Monday evening, under the initially enthusiastic supervision of Bonacieux. He was accompanied by Constance, who looked resigned but slightly amused at the prospect.

"Right gentlemen, pair up."

"With each other?" Rochefort demanded, sounding horrified. "You can't be planning on teaching half of us the lady's part."

"Well you're already a right lady's part, so it should come naturally," Porthos called, and the class dissolved into laughter.

"Yes, thank you du Vallon, come on, come on, quickly now." Bonacieux flapped at them all until they drifted into a semblance of pairs.

Porthos grabbed Athos' sleeve. "You need to show me what to do, I'll make a hash of it otherwise."

"Okay." Athos was willing enough, but this left Aramis without a partner, and as the rest of the boys paired off, it became apparent this was going to be an issue.

"Come on Jefferies, stop wasting time, d'Herblay still needs a partner," Bonacieux chivvied the only other boy left standing alone.

"I'm not dancing with him sir," said Jefferies immediately. 

"Why not?" 

Jefferies sent Aramis a filthy look and put his hands behind his back. "Just not sir," he muttered.

"Well swap with somebody else then," Bonacieux demanded impatiently.

"No one's going to want to hold hands with that deviant sir. You shouldn't make us."

Porthos growled something rude under his breath and cast a questioning look at Athos, who nodded. Porthos moved over to stand next to Aramis who was doing his level best to look like he didn't care.

"I will sir," Porthos said. "Athos can dance with Jefferies."

"Finally. Thank you so much for your cooperation," Bonacieux said acidly, moving over to an ancient looking CD player.

"You don't have to do this," Aramis muttered. "You'll get teased. I'll just sit it out."

Porthos shrugged. "Screw 'em. Come on, are we doing this or what?" he grabbed Aramis by the hand and immediately tried to twirl him round. 

Aramis gave a grudging smile. "Fine. But I'm leading."

"Suit yourself. Do you think I'll look good in a ballgown?" Porthos asked, and Aramis finally relaxed with a rueful laugh. 

"Thanks," he murmured, as they were herded into lines. "Sorry."

"Don't be daft." Porthos nudged him and grinned. 

With a certain amount of giggling and embarrassment the lesson proceeded, the boys being drilled in the steps of a rudimentary waltz. 

All went well until three quarters of an hour into the session, when an apparent confusion of feet lead to Jefferies falling face first into a wall and then headlong to the floor, where Athos, his partner, found himself completely unable to stop in time and accidentally kicked him painfully in the stomach. 

The lesson came to an abrupt end as Jefferies was lead off by Constance, coughing and bleeding from the nose. Athos immediately apologised most sincerely and contritely for his inadvertent causing of injury, and Bonacieux, flustered, waved him away with merely a plea to be more careful in the future.

The class broke up, the boys dispersing to various corners of the school to discuss and dissect the lesson.

"Thought you were supposed to be good at this," Porthos said innocently to Athos, as they caught up with him in the hall. "Not like you to trip someone so badly."

"It was most unfortunate," Athos agreed, and Aramis snorted, slinging an arm round both their shoulders.

"Come on you pair of nutcases. Let's get out of here."

\--

"I feel like an arse," Aramis grumbled. It was the night of the ball, and the boys were gathered in the school hall wearing uncomfortably smart clothes and eyeing a conglomeration of girls on the other side, who were looking back with equal suspicion.

"Well you can't have one," Porthos smirked, and Aramis glowered at him.

"Look at them," Athos broke in, before anyone could get punched again. He nodded at where the two headteachers of the respective schools were sitting side by side on the stage as if enthroned, gazing down at the floor. "Like they think they're a bloody king and queen."

"We've already got a queen," Porthos declared, slapping Aramis on the back. Aramis though, whirled on him with an expression of such fury that Porthos took a step back.

"You think you're so fucking funny don't you? Well you're not." Aramis strode off, leaving Porthos looking shocked. He turned to Athos, stricken.

"I didn't mean - I wasn't - "

"I know." Athos patted him in vague reassurance. "I know. Come on." 

They followed Aramis across the hall. He hadn't gone far, had come to a halt near the buffet tables, as if hardly knowing where to run. He didn't object when they rejoined him, just gave them a rueful smile with more than a little relief in it.

"I'm sorry," said Porthos immediately in a low voice. "I was only kidding. I didn't mean to be offensive."

Aramis sighed. "I know. It's just - sometimes you could do without getting it from your friends as well as everyone else, you know?"

"Yeah." Porthos nodded contritely. "I'm sorry. I won't do it again. Forgive me?"

Aramis smiled at him, and they bumped shoulders. 

"So who's going to go and ask for a dance first then?" Athos asked, feeling a change of subject would be good.

"Not me." Aramis folded him arms defensively. "I've told you, I'm not dancing with girls. I'm making a point."

"Maybe they'll ask us," said Porthos hopefully, peering across the hall. "Except they'll probably only ask Aramis, cause he's the prettiest." He suddenly looked guilty. "Handsomest, I mean. That wasn't - I wasn't being - "

"Oh, shut up," Aramis sighed. "You don't have to start second guessing everything you say. It was the deliberate stuff I was objecting to."

Porthos relaxed, and went back to staring at the girls. "One's coming over," he announced, sounding surprised. "Shit, she's coming this way and all!"

They looked round, all three unconsciously straightening up as the girl walked over to them. She was stunning, long blonde hair in an elaborate plait, and a dress of ivory satin that rippled like water as she moved. To everyone's surprise, not least his, she stopped in front of Athos.

"Will you dance with me?"

Athos stared at her, temporarily startled into silence. His mental image of himself was, at best, weird-looking, and for him to be singled out ahead of either of his friends - in fact, ahead of everyone else in the hall - just didn't compute.

"Well? I haven't got all day." She sounded imperious and impatient, but Athos suddenly realised she was incredibly nervous. He'd briefly been afraid he was the subject of a wind-up - that this would turn out to be Rochefort's sister or something hideous like that - but now he saw that most of the girls were watching her progress like a hawk, and that if he turned her down it would humiliate her.

"Alright. Yes." He offered her his hand, and with a bemused look at Aramis and Porthos, who were watching this unfold with considerable amusement, walked out to the floor.

To the relief of despairing teachers on both sides, their foray onto the dance floor finally prompted more couples to tentatively form and follow them out, until a reasonably respectable number of dancers were whirling about with varying degrees of competency.

"You're good," said the girl after a minute or two, with grudging admiration. "I chose well."

Athos half-smiled. "Why did you choose me?" he asked, hoping it wasn't an act of pity.

"You looked - nice." To his surprise, she blushed slightly. "I'm Ninon, by the way."

"Athos. Pleased to meet you." They regarded each other with a little more confidence. Over her shoulder, Athos saw a girl in blue silk approaching Aramis and Porthos, and smiled inwardly. He rather hoped Aramis would give in and dance with someone rather than sulk all evening. 

It was Porthos the girl had in her sights though, and encouraged by Ninon's example, shyly asked him to dance. 

Porthos hesitated, unwilling to abandon Aramis to his own devices, but Aramis waved him away.

"Go. Dance. Enjoy yourself." He smiled. "Try not to step on her too much."

Porthos glared at him, and the girl, Alice, giggled as she lead him away. "Is that likely?" she asked. "Should I have worn boots?"

"I'm afraid it is," Porthos confessed ruefully. "I'm alright until I have to change direction. Then it generally all goes tits up." 

"I'll bear that in mind." 

There followed a moment of confusion when they attempted to get into hold and Porthos, who'd spent the last week of practice mostly letting Aramis lead, automatically assumed the lady's position.

"Oh. Sorry." He felt his face flame with heat, but she just grinned at him.

"I can lead if you'd prefer?" she teased. "We've been learning both parts."

"So have we," Porthos admitted, laughing. "That's the trouble. Don't worry, I'll manage." He adjusted his hold, and they set off with a cautious rhythm.

The evening progressed in a surprisingly pleasant fashion, although Athos counted three separate girls go up and ask Aramis to dance only to be politely turned down.

"Do you think he's alright?" Porthos asked in an undertone, as the flow of the music briefly brought them together.

"I think he enjoys feeling oppressed," said Athos uncharitably. 

Porthos snorted. "Seriously though. He likes dancing, he enjoyed the lessons a lot more than he's letting on. It seems a shame."

"Well unless you can find him a boy to dance with, it looks like he's sticking to his guns," Athos said.

Porthos assumed a thoughtful expression. "Well, why not?"

"You're not serious?" Athos looked amused, and Porthos glanced at him, biting his lip.

"Do you dare me?"

"I'll double dare you if it will help," Athos smirked. 

"Done." Porthos turned to Alice, and ducked his head. "Excuse me, for a bit? There's something I need to do."

He walked round the edge of the dance floor until he reached the chair Aramis was occupying, and held out his hand. "May I have this dance?"

Aramis looked up and frowned. "You what?"

Porthos waggled his fingers. "Dance. You. Me. Now."

"I - no. You can't be serious!"

"Deadly serious mate. Come on, time to put your money where your mouth is. Hurry up, before the music changes, I can do this one."

Startled, Aramis let himself be pulled to his feet. "They'll crucify you," he whispered, although didn't pull away as Porthos took his hand. "Everyone's staring."

Porthos shrugged. "Everyone's been staring at me anyway, I've trodden on Alice three times so far. I think she's glad of the respite to be honest."

Aramis laughed, bewildered and touched. "You don't have to do this."

"I know I don't. But I am. So shut up and dance with me okay?" Porthos grinned. "I'll even let you lead."

They proceeded around the floor, making a fairly good attempt at it, given they'd spent the last week practicing with each other. At first there was a lot of incredulous laughter from those watching, not to mention a certain number of spiteful digs from some quarters, but as neither boy took the slightest bit of notice, the mockery gradually faded away and people stopped paying them much attention.

Athos, watching from the side of the hall from where he and Ninon had taken a break to have a drink, waved as they went past. 

"What the devil are those boys playing at?"

The angry exclamation came from behind him, and Athos turned to find Professor Richelieu standing a short distance away staring at the dancefloor in disbelief. Specifically, at Aramis and Porthos.

Constance, who was next to him, just patted his arm soothingly. "They're just dancing."

"But - we can't have them dancing with each other! What kind of reputation is that going to give the school?"

"We have just spent the last week teaching them to dance together," Constance pointed out mildly. "Besides, I think it's rather sweet."

"Sweet? Sweet! It's deplorable! They should be stopped!"

"Why?" Constance shook her head. "What's the problem?"

Richelieu muttered something about unnatural practices, and swept off in the direction of the headmaster.

Athos quickly made up his mind. "Ninon. Are there any girls here who would dance with you? Or with each other?"

Having been party to Richelieu’s tirade, Ninon caught on immediately. "Yes. And yes. I'll ask them."

"Thank you." Athos smiled at her gratefully. "I'll, uh - be over there. Making a point." 

They hurried off in opposite directions. Athos approached Porthos and Aramis who were taking a quick breather, and stepped in between them. "May I cut in?" he asked.

Porthos laughed delightedly. "Be my guest." He stepped back and Athos set off again, this time dancing with Aramis. 

"Did you two plan this?" Aramis asked, amused. He was flushed from exertion, and looked happier than he had for a long time. Athos was pleased. Now all they had to do was avoid being bollocked by Richelieu.

"No. We're making it up as we go," he replied, and Aramis laughed. 

Athos saw Ninon rejoin the dance floor with another girl, and behind them came Alice with another. He caught Ninon's eye and nodded gratefully, then cast a surreptitious look towards the stage, where Richelieu seemed to be thankfully on the losing end of an argument with the headmaster. 

Athos hoped they'd done enough to populate the floor with enough different same-sex couples to make it look like nothing out of the ordinary. He was banking on the fact that their school wouldn't want to cause an upset with St Anne's, and if their girls were doing it too, Richelieu could get nowhere. 

Certainly no ban or announcement was forthcoming, and so for another hour Athos and Porthos took turns between dancing with Aramis and the girls. 

Porthos seemed to be having more luck than anyone, as shortly after relinquishing Aramis to Athos the first time, another girl had come over and smiled up at him.

"That was a nice thing you did for your friend," she said. "Or is he your boyfriend?"

Porthos shook his head. "Just a friend." He grinned at her. "Would you like to dance?"

"I'd love to. I'm Flea, by the way."

Porthos laughed. "Flea? That's not your real name, surely?"

She shrugged. "Felicity then. But my friends call me Flea."

He took her hand, "In that case, I'm honoured to be counted as such."

\--

Athos and Aramis were sitting on a bench at the back of the hall, sharing a plate of food purloined from the table reserved for the teachers and watching Porthos still dancing. 

"He's not taken his eyes off her for ages," Aramis muttered.

"Mmmn?" Athos was more interested in the dwindling supply of mini sausage rolls, and wondered if they'd be noticed pinching another plateful.

"He's not trodden on her yet, either."

"Must be love." Athos looked up and frowned at Aramis' rather gloomy expression. "What? You don't actually fancy him do you?"

Aramis looked startled, and blushed. "No. No, it's not that. It's just - where are they going?" he broke off as Porthos and Flea snuck out of the far door, hand in hand.

"Probably gone for a snog," said Athos, wrinkling his nose slightly. "It's a thing people do, I'm told." He nudged Aramis with his elbow. "Come on, if you're going to be miserable again you can help me raid the rest of the buffet. Let's piss off to the stables, I've had enough dancing, I'm getting blisters. Porthos'll figure out where we are if he wants to join us."

"I don't imagine it's us he's thinking of right now," Aramis muttered, and then yelped as Athos dropped an olive down the back of his shirt. "You bastard!"

"Stop moping. Come on."

\--

They retired to their favourite stall, where Athos fed stolen carrot sticks to the horse in the next box, and Aramis slumped down in the straw and persisted in sighing loudly until Athos finally cracked and asked him what was wrong.

"I thought you'd had a good evening in the end?"

Aramis looked up at him a shade guiltily. "I have. You were both really sweet." 

"Is it Porthos?" Athos ventured, coming to sit next to him. "Are you - are you jealous?"

"Not like you mean." Aramis leaned against Athos' shoulder tiredly. "Just - well it's never going to happen to me, is it?"

"Who says? Besides, is there anyone here you'd actually want to snog?"

"Well, no. But that's not the point." Aramis shredded pieces of straw between restless fingers. "Porthos probably could have got off with Flea or Alice tonight. Or both, even. And Ninon was definitely giving you the eye."

Athos said nothing, although it hadn't escaped his notice. There'd been more than one reason he'd suggested they come and hide out here.

"But no one's ever going to want me, are they?" Aramis persisted.

"At the risk of sounding like your mother, you're fourteen. There's still plenty of time."

"Doesn't feel like it." Aramis gave a sudden laugh. "You hear all sorts of stories about boarding schools, don't you. I was rather hoping there'd be some tall and handsome sixth-former who'd make me do horrible things for him."

He sounded wistful, and Athos snorted. "Be grateful there isn't. It would never have worked out like in your head. You'd have been traumatised and then Porthos would have had to put up with both of us being sullen and cryptic."

Aramis finally smiled. "I know. I just - it would be nice, you know? The opportunity." He looked at Athos. "Have you ever kissed anyone?"

"No." Athos shrugged. "Don't particularly want to."

"And yet you could if you wanted," Aramis sighed. 

Athos smirked. "You talking about Ninon, or you?"

Aramis spluttered with laughter. "That wasn't an offer."

"Is it really such a big deal for you?" Athos asked quietly, looking sideways at him. "To be able to say you've kissed someone?"

"Will you think I'm tragic if I say yes?" Aramis said. "It would just make me feel - normal, you know? Like everyone else." He half-smiled. "Plus, I think it would be nice. I want to try it."

Athos sighed. "Go on then."

"What?" Aramis blinked. "You?"

"If you promise not to tell anyone," Athos said, feeling vaguely like this was uncharitable in the extreme. Aramis didn't seem to mind though, was looking at him with a cautious hope.

"Do you mean that? You said you didn't want to kiss anyone."

"I'm just not fussed. Might as well kiss you as Ninon." Athos gave him a lopsided smile, and Aramis laughed.

"Thanks. I think." 

They looked at each other speculatively, and Aramis leaned in, hesitating for a beat, then pressing his lips to Athos' mouth. A split second later a shadow fell over them and they jerked apart in guilty alarm.

Porthos was standing in the entrance to the stall looking down at them with a frozen expression.

"Sorry," he managed, in a strangled voice, and turned hurriedly away.

Aramis was rooted to the spot, but Athos scrambled up and darted after him. 

"Porthos. Porthos, wait!" He scurried round in front of him and got between Porthos and the door. "Don't go. It's not what you think. It's not - we're not - it's not what it looks like." 

Porthos kept ploughing on towards the door, looking stricken and embarrassed and betrayed, and Athos was forced to walk backwards, his hands up before him. At the door he stood his ground, until his hands were actually pressed up against Porthos' chest.

"Please," he said softly. "Don't go. Not like this."

Porthos stopped, finally, and looked down at where Athos' hands were still resting on his suit jacket. "I don't want to be in the way," he mumbled.

"You're not!" Athos told him urgently. "We were just fooling around."

"Don't go." Aramis had finally found his feet and his voice and come up behind them. "Athos is right, it didn't mean anything," He shoved his hands in his pockets and gave a rueful laugh. "It was just a pity - well not even a pity snog. A pity peck. Because I'm a massive loser."

"No you're not." Porthos and Athos spoke together, with equal amounts of irritation, and then glanced at each other with the beginnings of a smile. Porthos sighed.

"If you're sure I'm not interrupting?"

Athos and Aramis seized an arm each and dragged him back into the warmth of the stall.

Porthos settled between them on the straw and they both promptly leaned against him. Mollified and reassured, he laughed. "Can't leave you two alone for a minute."

"You can't talk, you were somewhere getting off with Tick, or Louse, or whatever her name was," Aramis objected. Porthos gave him a reproving look, and he sighed. "Oh, I'm sorry. I'm just jealous."

At that, Porthos leaned over and planted a kiss firmly on his lips. Aramis' expression was so thunderstruck that Athos actually doubled over laughing, and this set both the others off, never having seen him laugh so much in the whole time they'd known him.

"Now you two," Aramis declared when he could breathe again, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

They both looked at him in surprise. "What do you mean?" Porthos demanded.

Aramis waved his hands at them. "You have to kiss each other. It's neater that way."

"But - we're not gay," Athos pointed out. 

"You kissed me," Aramis countered.

"So?"

"So, now you kiss each other. Go on, I need the laugh."

"You're bonkers," Athos complained.

"If you tell anyone, we'll - " Porthos couldn't think of a punishment bad enough. "Tell everyone you fancy Rochefort."

Aramis snorted. "He'd hate that more than me. In fact, if we ever need to wind him up, it's worth bearing in mind."

Porthos caught Athos' gaze and raised an enquiring eyebrow. Athos rolled his eyes and nodded. Resigned to their fate, they leaned in and kissed each other, a solemn press of lips that felt oddly like the sealing of a bond.

The three of them looked at each other, and a certain amount of shy smiling gave way to relaxed laughter again as they sprawled against each other and shared out the food they'd smuggled from the hall.

"Tonight's been crazy," Aramis sighed. 

"And technically Porthos has still got off with more people than either of us," said Athos. "And that's just tonight."

"Can't help it if I'm irresistible," Porthos grinned. And then ducked, as a volley of sausage rolls pelted him from two directions.

\--


	3. Chapter 3

Aramis and Porthos were sitting in a corner of the common room a few nights before the end of term, when Athos came in looking gloomy. He sat down next to Porthos and seemed about to speak, but after a couple of attempts to find the right words, closed his mouth again and sighed.

Porthos, lounging against the arm of the sofa, poked Athos with his foot. "What's up? You've got a face like a wet weekend."

"I've just spoken to my father." Athos hesitated, curling into a defensive ball at the other end. "He says - my mother can't cope with visitors right now, and I can't bring anyone home with me. I'm sorry Porthos, I feel awful." When Athos had first brought the subject up, his mother had given him an admittedly vague 'we'll see' on the subject, that he'd taken as a yes. Now that had been taken away and he felt embarrassed and rather sick.

Porthos patted his ankle. "Oh well. Not to worry."

"I feel like I've let you down." Athos wouldn't look at him, and Porthos sighed.

"It's not your fault. I'll be okay. I'm used to Christmases on my own."

"Let me see if you could still come home with me," Aramis said, standing up. "I'll call them now." He went out in search of a mobile signal, and Athos finally ventured a miserable look up. Porthos smiled at him reassuringly.

"Will _you_ be okay?" he asked.

Athos shrugged. "I don't know," he said in a low voice. "I spent so long wanting to go back, but now I'm afraid what I'll find."

"I'm sure it'll be fine." Porthos looked at him worriedly, not knowing if it would be or not. 

After a minute or two Aramis came back in looking despondent, and Porthos frowned. "Uh oh," he muttered to Athos. "Not looking good, eh?"

Aramis threw himself back into the arm chair and shook his head. "No go, sorry. Apparently we've got about a dozen cousins descending on us, and my mother's already freaking out about where she's going to put them all." He sighed. "Sorry Porthos."

"It's okay. Really. Don't worry about me, I'll be alright." Porthos, whilst a little disappointed, was philosophical about it. He was more concerned about Athos, going home to face the first Christmas without his brother, and with a mother who sounded like she was still brittle and grieving. It had only been six months, to be fair to her, but Porthos hoped they would at least try and make it a happy holiday, for Athos' sake.

\--

The week leading up to Christmas after the school had broken up seemed a long one. Porthos was one of only three pupils staying on for the holidays, under the care of the Bonacieuxs and a skeleton domestic staff. The other two boys were first years, and twins, and consequently other than mealtimes and a certain amount of tv-watching in the evenings Porthos didn't spend much time with them, although they got on well enough.

The school seemed odd without the normal crush of people, its hallways echoing and empty. Porthos received occasional texts from Aramis, and a couple of terse emails from Athos, but the degree of loneliness he experienced was unexpected. He'd always thought of himself as being entirely self-sufficient, and it came as a shock to realise how far he'd come to depend on his friends in such a relatively short space of time.

Christmas Day dawned overcast and cold, and to the delight of all three boys as they were just finishing breakfast it started to snow. For a couple of hours it came down hard, settling enough to be ankle-deep over the lawns. Porthos and the twins spent the morning chasing each other through it, Porthos submitting to a severe pelting with snowballs and wishing that Aramis and Athos were there, so he could return fire with equal violence.

When they trooped in for lunch, Porthos checked his phone. He'd texted both of them first thing, wishing them Happy Christmas and thanking them for his presents (a big bag of sweets from Aramis and a beautiful pocketknife from Athos). He found a reply from Aramis, who seemed to be having a hectic but enjoyable day, but nothing from Athos. Porthos frowned, hoping it was because he was having too good a time to check his phone.

In the dining hall they stuffed themselves to near-bursting with roast turkey and all the trimmings, plus Christmas pudding _and_ trifle because the kitchen staff had pulled out all the stops for the poor boys having to stay at school. A table in the bay window had been set for the three of them plus the Bonacieuxs, decorated with paper chains and crackers and streamers, and despite the French master's rather dour presence, everyone had a surprisingly good time.

The cloud cover meant darkness came early that evening, and Porthos settled himself comfortably in the common room. He had it to himself, and pulled all the cushions off the sofas to make a nest in front of the fire, where he proceeded to work his way through his bag of sweets and start reading the book that had been an unexpected present from Constance.

Porthos had had to hold in his laughter at the dining table, when Constance had explained in response to her husband's rather disapproving question that she'd given the boys improving books on history. Porthos didn't know what the twins had got, but his at least was a lurid book about pirates, and he was very pleased with it.

He'd been lying there for perhaps half an hour, getting drowsy from the warmth and feeling pleasantly sick from the number of sweets he'd eaten, when someone opened the door from the corridor. 

Porthos glanced up, his view obscured for a moment by one of the sofas. Whoever it was came in and Porthos sat up, assuming they were looking for him. And stared. Standing just inside the doorway, with snow in his hair and an exhausted, deadened look in his eyes, was Athos.

"Athos!" Porthos scrambled to his feet, astonished. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Athos blinked slowly, as if hardly understanding the question, and as Porthos drew nearer he realised Athos was shaking with either cold or exhaustion.

"Ath? You alright?"

Athos shook his head, looking hesitant. "I - I couldn't stay. It was too - I had to - " He swayed slightly, and Porthos grabbed him, instinctively pulling him into a hug.

"Fucking hell Athos, you're freezing." He brushed the melting snow out of Athos' hair and from his coat and hugged him tighter. After a second Athos hugged back, suddenly clinging to him with a tiny whimper of relief.

"I'm sorry." Athos whispered it, face buried in Porthos' jumper, and he shook his head, bewildered as to what Athos was apologising for.

"It's okay. It's okay. You're safe, you've made it. Look, come over by the fire before you catch your death. How did you even get here?"

Unprotesting, Athos let Porthos pull off his damp coat and settle him by the fire. 

"I got the train," Athos said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Porthos was surprised. "Are there any even running today?"

"On the main line, yes. It's only three and a half hours."

"Only." Jesus, when had Athos left home? "Hang on, the mainline station's ten miles away. How'd you get here if the branch wasn't running?"

"Walked."

"What?" Porthos stared at him incredulously. "In the snow?"

Athos shrugged. "It's not so deep. And I can run further than that on a good day."

"Yeah, when you're well fed and rested and wearing the proper kit," Porthos muttered. "You could have died in a ditch and we wouldn't have found you till it thawed."

"Don't be daft. Anyway, I didn't." Athos looked uncomfortable. "I didn't know where else to go," he added miserably. 

"What happened?" 

Athos just shook his head, and lay down on the cushions as if he was too tired to hold his head up any longer. 

"You're the maddest bastard I ever met," Porthos said softly, stroking Athos' hair. "And the bravest."

"I'm not brave," Athos whispered. "I ran away."

"Still takes guts." Porthos looked down at the figure huddled on the cushions in front of him and sighed, wondering what had been so awful that it drove Athos out of his home at Christmas and halfway across the country. 

"Can you tell me about it?" Porthos asked, but there was no answer and he realised after a second that Athos was already fast asleep.

\--

Twenty minutes passed. Porthos ate chocolates and watched over the sleeping Athos, feeling obscurely like he was on guard. He knew he should probably tell someone that Athos was here - for all he knew, half the police in the country were looking for him by now - but he didn't want to leave in case Athos woke up alone, and he didn't have the heart to wake him.

He was saved from having to make the decision when the door opened for a second time, and Constance came in. 

"Porthos, did you want any supper? There's not going to be a formal meal, but - oh my God, is that Athos?" She stared down at the slumbering boy in shock.

"Yeah." Porthos looked up at her helplessly. "He just turned up about half an hour ago."

"Do his parents know he's here?"

Porthos shook his head. "I don't think so. I think he ran away."

Constance looked even more alarmed. "Why?" 

"I dunno. He wouldn't tell me. But it must have been pretty bad at home. I don't think things are great there at the moment."

"Do you think he's hungry?" Constance wondered, latching onto the most practical thing she could think of.

"Probably. He must have been travelling most of the day. He fucking walked the last ten miles." Porthos clapped a hand over his mouth as the inadvertent expletive slipped out, but Constance let it pass, more concerned about Athos. 

"You know I'm going to have to tell his parents he's here?" she murmured.

Porthos nodded. "Yeah. I know." He sighed. "Don't let them take him away again?"

Constance gave him a sympathetic look. "That'll be up to them," she said softly. "I'll fetch you both some food. You can have it up here." 

A few minutes after she'd gone, Athos stirred, and slowly woke up. He scrambled into a sitting position, disorientated and alarmed, but relaxed when he saw Porthos. 

Obscurely flattered, Porthos smiled at him. "It's okay," he murmured. "You made it."

"Dreamed I was stuck on the train," Athos sighed, rubbing his eyes.

Porthos ruffled his hair, and Athos pushed his hand away, almost raising a smile. 

"So come on then," Porthos probed gently. "What happened? What was so bad you'd rather come back to school? You didn't insult your mother's cooking did you?" Porthos smiled, but Athos' expression had clouded, and he hugged his knees defensively. 

"There wasn't any cooking to insult," Athos said, staring into the fire. "The turkey never made it as far as the oven. My mother spent the morning upstairs crying over a pile of presents she'd bought and wrapped for my brother."

Porthos stared at him. "Jesus. She - I mean - she bought them - after he'd - um?" 

"Yeah," Athos said softly. 

"Fuck." Porthos didn't have the faintest idea what to say. He shifted closer, until his shoulder was resting against Athos'. Athos leaned against him, not his whole weight, but enough to show Porthos he appreciated the gesture.

"Where was your dad when all this was going on?" Porthos asked tentatively.

"He started drinking after breakfast," Athos said bleakly. "I think by the time I left he'd passed out. I don't even know if it was because of Thomas, or because he can't cope with my mother any more."

"Are you alright?" Porthos asked, feeling that the answer could hardly be yes, but finding that the words came out automatically.

Athos looked round at him, and managed a faint smile. "I am now."

"Do you think they'll have called the police?" Porthos asked, remembering his worries of earlier.

"They've probably not even noticed I've gone."

Porthos was saved from having to answer that by Constance coming back in, bearing a tray with two heaped plates of food and two cans of coke.

Athos tensed, but she smiled at him, and Porthos laid a calming hand on his back. 

"She came in earlier while you were asleep," Porthos explained under his breath, as Constance set the tray down on one of the tables.

"Am I in trouble?" Athos asked, looking hunted.

"You seem to ask me that an awful lot," Constance smiled. "And no. Not from me, anyway." She hesitated. "I called your parents. I'm sorry, I had to, I hope you understand that."

Athos nodded tiredly, just glad he hadn't had to do it himself. "Yes. Thank you." 

"They were relieved to know you were okay," she ventured, rather worried by Athos' apparent lack of interest. She'd assumed at first that he'd run away to provoke a reaction, to make them prove they cared enough to be worried about him. But it was starting to look like he'd actually run away from a situation he didn't want to be in.

"Athos - they've not hurt you at all, have they?" she asked carefully. "Physically, I mean?"

Athos gave a bitter laugh. "No. They just wish I didn't exist."

"I think they're having a hard time - accepting what happened," Porthos volunteered.

To his surprise, Athos glared at him. "Shut up. You don't even _know_ what happened."

Porthos faltered, taken aback. "Sorry." 

Athos' face crumpled. "No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to - " he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to force back tears. Porthos put an arm round him.

"It's okay," he said. "You're upset, and you're tired and hungry. Why don't you have something to eat?"

Athos sniffed and nodded, and Porthos gave him a squeeze. "Will he have to go home again?" he asked, looking up at Constance. "Or can he stay here?" 

Athos stiffened, not looking up, but waiting tensely to hear his fate.

"Your father's coming to pick you up tomorrow," Constance said, directing her reply to Athos. "He was glad you're safe, but - not best pleased at being made to come all this way again, I think," she added cautiously. 

Athos did look up then, face tight and anguished. "Then why doesn't he stay at fucking home?" he snapped, getting up and stumbling off the cushions to the floor. "Why's he coming to get me when he doesn't bloody want me there in the first place? You know why he can't come tonight? Because he's too _fucking_ drunk!" Athos slammed out of the room, leaving Porthos and Constance staring at each other in an awkward silence.

\--

Porthos tracked Athos down in the dormitory, huddled in bed. He set the stacked plate of food he'd carried up on the nightstand, and changed into his pyjamas.

"Shift up," he said, poking Athos through the duvet. "I know you're not asleep, I can hear you sniffing."

Athos turned over with a sigh, and made room. Porthos climbed in beside him and balanced the plate on the bedclothes. "Eat," he instructed. Athos just looked at him miserably. "What?"

"Do you think I'll be expelled for talking to Madame Bonacieux like that?" Athos asked anxiously.

Porthos pursed his lips. "Nah. I happen to know for a fact, she's just going to stick you in detention. Every day for the next two weeks."

"But - "

"Yeah. She called your father back and told him you deserved to be thoroughly punished, and that you should consequently be made to spend the rest of the holidays at school." Porthos' poker face broke into a grin. "You can stay, you twat."

"Oh God." Athos put a hand over his mouth, and looked like he was about to burst into tears. Porthos jabbed him with a bony elbow.

"Oh bloody hell, don't start that again. Here, have a turkey leg and cheer the fuck up."

"Thank you," Athos breathed, staring at Porthos with the wonder of someone who couldn't quite comprehend his reprieve. "Thank you."

Porthos shrugged. "Wasn't me, so much as matron." He smirked. "She did ask what I thought you'd want though."

"How can I ever thank you?"

"Eat. And then try not to snore." Porthos wriggled down in the bed and picked up his phone. "While I text Aramis and tell him what a mad bastard you are."

\--

"Aramis!" 

It was the first day of the spring term, and the minibus containing those boys returning by train had just come back from the station. Porthos and Athos ran down the steps to meet everyone climbing off, and Porthos flung his arms round Aramis in a bear-hug.

Ever more reserved, Athos nodded to him with an amused smile. "Good Christmas?"

"Yes thanks, brilliant. Sounds like yours was more eventful though!" Aramis was glad to see Athos looking happy; he'd heard most of the details from Porthos and been horrified.

Athos shrugged and smiled, and clearly didn't want to talk about it. Porthos grabbed one of Aramis' bags as a diversion. "Want a hand? Jesus, what have you got in here, bricks?"

Aramis smirked. "Books, mostly. And thank you, yes, you're very welcome to carry that one, I nearly did my back in getting it on and off the train."

Porthos heaved it up onto his shoulder with a wild swing, almost smacking Athos with it in the process. Athos stepped back without looking and banged into someone behind him.

"Watch it!" 

Athos turned in time to see a boy he didn't recognise almost stumble to the ground. The bag he was carrying fell and spilled open, scattering his possessions across the carpark.

"Sorry," Athos apologised. "Didn’t see you there. Here, let me help."

"You've done enough already," the boy shot back angrily. "Keep your damn hands to yourself."

"Oi! He said sorry." Porthos appeared at Athos' shoulder, clearly considering dropping Aramis' book bag on the newcomer's head. "Who the hell are you, anyway?"

The boy straightened up, glaring at all three of them. "My name's d'Artagnan. I'm new. Although if everyone here's this clumsy and rude I'm starting to wish I hadn't come."

"You could always fuck off again," Aramis volunteered helpfully.

"What seems to be the problem?" came the drawling enquiry from behind them.

Athos looked round and groaned. "Piss off Rochefort. This is none of your business."

Ignoring Athos utterly, Rochefort approached d'Artagnan with a look of concern. "Are these boys bothering you? Here, let me help you pick up your things."

"Thank you. That one tried to push me over," d'Artagnan said hotly, gesturing at Athos. 

Struck speechless at the injustice of this, for a second Athos could do nothing but gape at him.

" _Don't_ let him concern you," Rochefort said smoothly. "Nobody here likes him. Why don't you come with me, and I'll show you round?" He drew d'Artagnan off towards his own group of friends, a proprietal arm draped around his shoulders.

"Of all the - " Porthos glowered. 

"Stuck up prick," Athos added in a rather louder voice, and was gratified when d'Artagnan visibly stiffened and glanced back towards him with a look of fury.

"Ladies." Aramis put an arm round him and Porthos. "Decorum at all times." He grinned. "Forget them, they deserve each other. Come on, I'm starving, help me unpack before tea."

\--

"...a _farmer's_ son, can you imagine! I thought he was somebody of consequence!" Rochefort broke off his tirade as Porthos came round the corner, but sneered when he saw who it was. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, it appears they'll let practically anyone in here now."

Porthos grinned at him, unruffled. There was a time when he'd have taken mortal offence, but these days he found he was more grounded, more secure in himself. He presumed it was having the unwavering support of such good friends. That, or the realisation that Athos and Aramis had far worse problems than he did, anyway. 

"Just as well as far as you're concerned," he called out now. "I don't know of any other schools that take mangy dogs."

Rochefort took a furious step towards him then checked himself as Aramis and Athos, hitherto hidden by the angle of the wall, materialised at Porthos' side. Rochefort sneered.

"Wouldn't be so brave without your little friends, would you?" he spat.

Porthos looked his skinny frame up and down with genuine bemusement. "Any one of us could take you with one hand tied behind his back," he declared.

Rochefort was saved from answering by the appearance of d’Artagnan, and he immediately latched onto him.

"Ah, d'Artagnan. Are you ready?"

"Ready for what?" D'Artagnan looked confused.

"For your initiation, of course. It's a tradition here I'm afraid, all new boys have to go through with it."

Athos and Porthos glanced at each other. This was news to them. If there'd been any kind of existing humiliating ritual to go through, they were fairly sure Rochefort would have tried to make them do it. Which suggested this was something Rochefort had come up with himself, as petty revenge for having taken d'Artagnan under his wing only to discover his lowly origins.

"Er - okay." D'Artagnan looked taken aback. "What do I have to do?"

"Nothing much. Just - borrow Professor Richelieu's mortar board, and put it on the top of the flagpole." 

Whereas most of the teachers wore suits or smart but reasonably informal clothing, Richelieu insisted on wearing a formal cap and gown, and stalked the corridors like a big black bat.

There was a stir amongst the gathering crowd, and Rochefort sent them a quelling glance. "Don't worry, he's an easygoing sort," Rochefort lied. "You won't get into trouble."

"If Richelieu catches him, he'll skin him alive," Aramis muttered under his breath.

"Serve him right," Athos muttered back, still harbouring a grudge. "Save me having to do it."

Normally, none of them would have let Rochefort get away with a scheme that could get an innocent boy into so much trouble, but given d'Artagnan's behaviour the day before, none of the three raised a word of protest. 

When Rochefort realised there would be no dissenters, even from amongst his enemies, he looked smug. "Hurry then, d'Artagnan," he pressed. "If you go now, you might find Richelieu's still at dinner. You'll be able to sneak into the staffroom unobserved."

D'Artagnan, nervous but resolute, ran off down the corridor, and Rochefort lead the way outside to wait expectantly beneath the flagpole.

\--

"Should we be letting him go through with this?" Porthos muttered. They were all outside waiting for d'Artagnan, and looking up at the flagpole. It seemed a lot higher than they remembered, now they were standing underneath it.

Aramis shook his head. "He'll be fine," he said. "There's no way he'll be able to climb high enough to do himself any damage by falling off. I reckon there's not a handful of people in the whole school could manage it." He looked thoughtful. "Athos might. And, I hate to say it, possibly Rochefort."

Athos jabbed him with his elbow. "Don't stick me in categories with him," he objected, and Aramis laughed. 

"Sorry."

"Where is the little bugger, anyway?" Porthos grumbled. Unlike Athos and Aramis he hadn't bothered to grab his coat on the way out, and he was getting cold. 

"Maybe he's sitting by the fire in the common room having a good laugh at all of us waiting out here," said Aramis gloomily. "If he's got any sense."

"He'll come," Athos predicted. "He'll need to prove himself."

Sure enough after a few more minutes d'Artagnan appeared, although not from the direction everyone was expecting. He didn't emerge from the main doors, but from round the corner of some of the outbuildings, and he was dragging something.

"What the hell's he got there?" Aramis wondered, squinting into the gathering dark. 

"It's a ladder!" Porthos gave a sudden laugh. "The sneaky bastard's figured out a way round it!"

Rochefort looked less than amused, and folded his arms as d'Artagnan came panting up to him. "What do you think you're doing with that?"

"You said I had to get it up there," d'Artagnan declared. "You didn't specify how." He held Rochefort's gaze boldly, until Rochefort stepped back with a slight shrug. 

"Very well."

With some difficulty, d'Artagnan propped the ladder up against the flagpole. It was awkward to get it balanced on the narrow and circular mast, but somehow he managed it, the foot of the ladder wedged firmly in the gravel drain at the edge of the tarmac. It was a rickety old thing, ancient and wooden, with half the rungs missing, but it stretched almost to the top of the pole. 

D'Artagnan produced a rather battered black square from inside his jacket, which turned out to be Richelieu's mortar board. D'Artagnan perched it jauntily on his own head, which got a laugh, and started climbing.

Everyone held their breath as he ascended the ladder. Rochefort had forbidden anyone from holding it steady, saying that d'Artagnan had to make it on his own merit.

Halfway up, one of the rungs, riddled with woodworm cracked under his foot, and everyone flinched as d'Artagnan slipped. He steadied himself, holding onto the flagpole with one hand and the hat with the other, bracing the ladder with his feet until his heart had stopped thumping enough to continue.

"This is a bad idea," Porthos muttered uneasily, but there was no stopping him now. Another minute or so and d'Artagnan was balanced on the top rung, arm wrapped firmly around the pole and craning up to hook the hat in place. The school's flag was flapping awkwardly in his face, and the halyard ropes that ran it up and down were slapping against the pole like a drum roll.

And then Rochefort stepped forward. 

"Sorry, but using a ladder is cheating," he declared, and before anyone could stop him, kicked the foot of it sharply away.

Six metres up, d'Artagnan made a frantic grab for the flagpole and hung on grimly while the ladder fell sideways, and to everyone's horror smashed on the tarmac. Old and rotten, the wood splintered on impact and when some of the boys tried to haul it back into place, it simply fell into pieces.

Ten boys looked skywards, nine of them feeling guilty by association and Rochefort looking defiant. "You'll have to climb down," he called. "You've broken the ladder now."

D'Artagnan screwed his eyes shut for a second in frustration. He wasn't used to climbing ropes or poles, and it was all he could do to keep his position. He could feel his grip starting to slide and panicked, thrashing out for a better hold and trying to grab the flag itself.

From the ground it was never clear exactly what happened but d'Artagnan appeared to slip, and grabbed wildly for purchase. He dropped, then held, and for a brief moment of relief they thought he'd saved himself. His frantically kicking feet swiftly told another story, and in another horrified second they saw he'd got the flag ropes somehow caught around his neck.

Aramis was the first to unfreeze. "Fetch a teacher!" he yelled. "Find another fucking ladder, now!"

Two boys hared off towards the school, but d'Artagnan was choking, being strangled by inches, and it was clear they would never be able to fetch help in time. 

Athos grabbed Aramis and Porthos and dragged them towards the flagpole. "Give me a leg up. _Quickly_!" Aramis laced his fingers and gave him a foothold, Porthos steadying his back and half-lifting him upwards. Athos reached as high as he could and started climbing, strong legs wrapped around the pole, shoving himself higher. 

They watched in silence as he went up, Porthos' fingers twisted anxiously into Aramis' sleeve. D'Artagnan's kicking was getting weaker, and the noises he was making were dreadful to hear.

Athos, legs screaming with the effort, drew level. He steeled himself to let go the pole with one hand and reached out, grabbing d'Artagnan by the shirt and drawing him in. Lost in panic, his fingernails bleeding from where he'd torn at the rope, d'Artagnan hit out at him blindly.

"Stop it!" Athos shouted. "Stop struggling, you'll have us both off. I've got you." His hand found d'Artagnan's belt and he heaved him in until he was braced against his hip, taking the weight off his throat. It was all Athos could do to hold them both there, but with the tension in the rope slackened, d'Artagnan was finally able to tear the loop away from his neck.

"I suggest you hold on," Athos said grimly, feeling like his arms were about to be wrenched out of their sockets. "Because I don't think I can carry you down."

D'Artagnan couldn't speak, but he did reach past Athos to take hold of the flagpole himself, and a fraction of the weight burden lifted. They clung there together, afraid to move in case they fell, only half-aware of the running feet and shouting and lights gathering beneath them.

A powerful torchbeam flashed upwards and Athos flinched, closing his eyes. A second later a metallic clang signalled the arrival of another ladder hitting the pole just beneath them. It might as well have been a mile away, and when it became clear to those below that the boys couldn't move, the ladder shook as someone started climbing.

A moment later, or it might have been a year, Treville's head appeared by their feet, and he cautiously climbed the last few rungs until he could reach them. He carefully pried d'Artagnan from Athos' deathgrip on his belt, and eased him over his shoulder in a fireman's lift. 

"Can you make it down alone?" he asked Athos, who gave him a shaky nod. Treville started back down with d'Artagnan, and Athos finally plucked up the courage to slither as far as the ladder, where he paused until his legs stopped shaking enough to climb down. 

In the distance an ambulance siren was getting closer, and everyone was gathered in an anxious huddle around d'Artagnan. Everyone that is except Porthos, who had refused to take his eyes off Athos, and was therefore the only person watching when his legs gave way halfway down and he crumpled quietly off the ladder.

"Athos!" Porthos darted forward and grabbed him out of the air, tumbling backwards until they were sprawled together on the ground, panting.

"You okay?" Porthos sat up, patting Athos anxiously over in search of injury. 

Athos nodded, curling against Porthos' chest and making no protest when Porthos hugged him tightly.

"Is he alright?" Aramis had dashed back from the crowd around d'Artagnan.

"Give me your coat," Porthos ordered. "I don't think he's hurt, but he won't stop shaking."

Aramis draped his coat over Athos' shoulders and looked on worriedly as Porthos rocked him comfortingly.

"It's okay," Porthos murmured. "You did good, you saved him. It's all okay."

"What's going on? Is Athos alright?" It was Constance, looking concerned.

"I think he's in shock," Aramis told her.

"Right, come on, you're going to the hospital with d'Artagnan," she said, crouching down to look at him.

Athos took a shaky breath and finally looked up, shaking his head.

"No," he said hoarsely. "Please. I'm fine. I don't want to."

Constance sighed. "You really should."

Athos shook his head again, pressing back into Porthos' arms. When it looked like the prospect was only going to make him more distressed, she gave in. 

"Fine. But you two stay with him, do you hear?" Pointing at Aramis and Porthos. "You take him inside and get him a hot drink, and if he gets any worse you come and find me, _immediately_ , do you understand?"

"Yes miss," said Aramis obediently, and Porthos nodded. She hurried back to where d'Artagnan was being loaded into the ambulance. Aramis noted with a distant sort of interest that Richelieu's mortar board, dropped by d'Artagnan and kicked around by the crowd in the subsequent confusion, had just been run over.

"Come on you." Porthos heaved Athos to his feet. "Let's get you indoors."

Athos hung back, and they looked at him exasperatedly. "Now what?"

"I don't want to go in," he confessed under his breath. "It's too bright, and there's too many people."

"Stables?" Porthos suggested. Aramis sighed.

"We're supposed to be keeping him warm."

"Well there's two of us, and it's pretty warm with all the horses," Porthos pointed out, and Aramis gave in.

Over the last term, they'd turned the end stall into quite a hideout. Hidden under loose boards they had a battery lantern and a stash of chocolate, and they settled Athos between them in the straw, draping Aramis' coat and a horse blanket over the three of them. 

For a long while they said nothing, just cuddled up against Athos until, gradually, he stopped shaking.

"Sorry." Athos raised his head tiredly from Porthos' arm and looked embarrassed as full awareness of events came seeping back.

Porthos snorted, fumbling around under the straw until he found the chocolate and holding it out to Athos. "Eat this, you'll feel better."

Athos shook his head, and Porthos frowned at him. He unwrapped it himself, snapped a piece off and held it against Athos' lips.

Athos ducked backwards. "Don't."

"If you're going to behave like a sulky baby animal I'm going to treat you like one," Porthos told him sternly. 

At that, Athos gave a reluctant smile, and opened his mouth enough for Porthos to pop the chocolate in. Porthos then handed a bit to Aramis, and licked his fingers. 

"Is d'Artagnan alright?" Athos asked, after they'd demolished two slabs of chocolate between them, and he was feeling a bit stronger. 

"Thanks to you," Aramis smiled.

"You were amazing," Porthos added. "I didn't even think you liked him."

Athos sighed. "I had to save him," he said in a small voice. "Nobody was _doing_ anything."

"Didn't make it your responsibility," Porthos pointed out. "Should have sent that rat Rochefort up."

Aramis was watching Athos closely. "Was it - because of your brother?" he ventured. Given that Athos was normally of hardy nerves when it came to reckless behaviour, the strength of his reaction seemed surprising. The only times Athos had fallen apart like this had been related to his own troubles, and Aramis wondered if Athos had been traumatised all over again by witnessing d'Artagnan's near death experience.

Athos looked at him sharply. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I just - you've never said," Aramis answered gently. "What actually happened to your brother." He hesitated. "Athos - were you _there_? Did you see it happen?" It would explain a lot, he thought. 

For a long minute, Athos was silent. Then, in a quietly neutral and distant voice, without looking at either of them, he started talking.

"There was this barn," he said. "On our land. Derelict. We weren't allowed to play there, so obviously it was always the first place we'd make for. It had a hayloft, only the stairs had long gone, and there was no way up. I didn't really care, but Thomas was obsessed with getting up there. So one day we carried in a ladder." 

Athos hesitated. "It was heavy, he'd never have managed it on his own. I helped him." Eyes flickering, not looking at them but at a distant scene, long past, in the first sign of emotion since he'd begun. Porthos burrowed under the horse blanket and took his hand. It was obvious this story wasn't going to end well. Athos squeezed his fingers gratefully and took heart to continue.

"It was easy enough, once we had that, to climb up. I said we should stay at the edges, where it was safer, but Thomas wouldn't listen. He called me a coward. And he walked right out to the middle."

"He fell through?" Aramis guessed, when Athos paused again.

Athos nodded. "He might have been okay. He might have got away with a broken leg or something, even from that height. But there were these ropes - pulleys and stuff, for getting sacks up there I suppose, I don't know. He - he got caught in them. Round his neck."

"Oh fuck," said Aramis softly, and took hold of his other hand.

"I couldn't reach him, from below," said Athos. "And above - well the boards didn't take his weight, and he was a lot smaller than me. They were old, and rotten, and I knew I couldn't make it. So I did the only the only thing I could think of. I went for help."

"It was the right thing to do," said Porthos, into the silence that followed. "The responsible thing."

Athos laughed, bitterly. "The responsible thing would have been to stop him getting up there in the first place. To stop him doing what I knew was dangerous. He was my little brother, and it's my fault he died."

"No. Ath, no." Porthos squirmed round to look at him, distressed. "You did all you could."

Athos shook his head. "By the time I got back with my parents, he was already dead. He died alone, and he died because of me." Tears filled his eyes, although he didn't seem to heed them. There was no sobbing this time, no anger. Just blank, accepting despair.

"I should have tried," Athos breathed. "I should have saved him, or died trying."

"That's bullshit," Aramis objected. "You think your parents would want you both dead?" Knowing awkwardly even as he said it, that Athos' parents couldn't necessarily be judged by the standards of his own.

Athos looked at him, eyes full of pain. "It was my mother who said it," he whispered.

"Oh, Athos." Aramis looked at Porthos in desperate hope he would know what to say, but Porthos just stared back at him in helpless misery.

It was Athos who sighed, and set his shoulders, and patted their hands. "I think - she shouldn't have come," he said quietly. "She shouldn't have had to see him like that. I think - maybe something broke, that day. Maybe in both of us."

At that, they both fell on him and hugged him tightly, without words. 

"You're not broken," Porthos said finally, gruffly, face buried in Athos' tousled hair. "And if you say you are, I'll fight you."

Athos laughed, and sniffed, and pulled him closer, and Aramis too.

"Fuck your family," Aramis said tightly. "We're your family now."

"You understand, then?" Athos asked. "Why I had to try and save d'Artagnan?" As if they might have been angry with him, for risking his life for a boy they had no cause to like. "I spent so long, going over it all in my head. Looking for a way I might have saved Thomas. I promised myself, that if I'd had a second chance, I'd have taken it. And maybe today I did."

"You're a hero," Aramis murmured. 

Athos half-laughed. "I am not."

"Well you're _our_ hero," Porthos said firmly, and wriggled down under the blanket. "Come here."

The three of them curled together in the straw, and one by one fell asleep.

\--

Porthos lifted his head, blinking tiredly. He was disoriented to find himself in the stables, and wondered how long he'd been asleep. Athos was fast asleep on his watch arm, and he hissed across at Aramis.

"Aramis! What time is it?"

There was a pause, and a rustle. "Shit. Just gone ten." They'd missed lights out.

"Athos. Ath, wake up, we're gonna be in the shit." Porthos shook Athos gently, and he peered up at him blearily. "Come on. We've got to go in. You okay?"

Athos nodded, and yawned. "Sorry. Fell asleep."

"We all did." Aramis helped him to his feet. "We need to run."

\--

To their surprise, upon reaching the dormitory floor they found it still lit up from one end to the other. Worried at first that this was due to their unexplained absence, it quickly transpired they hadn't even been missed.

Treville had apparently not yet returned from the hospital, which partially explained why no one had enforced the boys' bedtime, but the real reason everyone was still up turned out to be far more dramatic. Enquiry revealed that about half an hour before lights out, Richelieu had appeared in thunderous mood, and marched Rochefort away with him.

There was some speculation that this was due to the belated discovery of his mangled hat, but the truth was likely to be rather more serious.

"D'Artagnan must have squealed," Aramis said.

"Can you blame him?" Porthos retorted. "Christ, can you imagine the shit the school'll be in if his parents decide to sue?"

"We're all at fault, not just Rochefort," said Athos gloomily. "None of us stopped him. We just stood and watched." 

Aramis slapped him round the back of the head. "Will you stop trying to take responsibility for everything? Rochefort was the only one to kick the damn ladder away, or is that somehow our fault too?"

Athos produced an unexpected smile. "Fair point."

\--

When they finally crawled into bed, Athos couldn't sleep. He tossed and turned, plagued by uncomfortable thoughts and memories, and a fear of what sleep itself might bring. For weeks after Thomas' death he'd had nightmares, and while no longer as frequent as they once were, they still sporadically seized him. 

Athos looked longingly over at Porthos' bed, mentally willing him to realise he needed a hug. Athos had never found it easy to ask for comfort, but Porthos seemed to have some kind of sixth sense about when he needed it, and willingly gave without having to be asked.

Tonight though, Porthos was fast asleep and snoring, and Athos sighed. Porthos' warm body next to him was one of the few things he'd found to be proof against nightmares.

He cast a look round the rest of the dorm, wondering if he dared. All was quiet, and the dim light from the corridor suggested everyone but him was asleep. Finally, he couldn't stand the accusatory silence of his own head any longer, and slipped out of bed.

There was enough of a gap to climb in next to Porthos, who mumbled in his sleep and wrapped an arm around Athos without waking. With a quiet sigh, Athos finally relaxed. 

\--

The sun was just up when Porthos woke the next morning, and he was somewhat surprised to find Athos in his bed.

"Hello," Porthos grinned. 

"Hello." Athos smiled back, blushing slightly. He'd have immediately retreated to his own bed, but Porthos slipped an arm back round him, and they lay there for a few quiet minutes, enjoying the peace.

A sudden burst of cackling laughter from behind them suggested they'd finally been caught out, and Athos tensed for a second before sighing. He sat up, and cocked an eyebrow at the dorm's other inhabitants, all of whom had now woken up and were staring and sniggering. 

"What? We're only having a conversation. It's cold."

"You're in his bed!" 

Athos climbed out and rolled his eyes. "Yes. You're right. We're actually having sex. You're next, by the way." He went to grab his towel and dressing gown, and Porthos watched him with considerable amusement. There was something about Athos' arch tone that had immediately shut down the piss-taking, and Porthos was impressed by the way he'd dealt with it.

Athos caught his eye on his way to the showers, and smirked. "I only hope it doesn't make its way to Rochefort," he muttered as he went past.

Rochefort though, was nowhere to be seen, and when they gathered in the common room at breaktime, the news finally filtered in. He'd been expelled. Not for instigating the prank, but for the way he'd wilfully endangered d'Artagnan's life by kicking the ladder away.

The three of them stared at each other in shock.

"I thought I'd be happier," said Athos, numbly. "But that's kind've awful. I wonder what his father will say."

Aramis took him by the shoulders and looked at him seriously. "Not. Your. Problem."

Someone nearby cleared their throat, and they turned round to find d'Artagnan standing there, looking awkward. He'd spent the night under observation in the local hospital, and just been picked up by Constance. There were livid bruises round his neck that made them all wince.

"I - I just wanted to say thank you," d'Artagnan stammered, looking at Athos. "What you did - you saved my life. You risked yours, when you had no reason to like me. So - thank you." He held out his hand, rather stiffly, as if he expected Athos to spurn him.

Athos took it, and smiled. "You're welcome. Rochefort's an arse, and by the sounds of it we're well rid of him."

"I see that now." D'Artagnan sighed, sinking into a chair. "None of his friends will speak to me. They think it's my fault he's been expelled. I suppose it is."

"He did it to himself," Athos said immediately, while Aramis stifled a snort of amusement at the fact Athos appeared to have found someone with a worse guilt complex than his own.

D'Artagnan looked gloomy, and Athos looked round at Aramis and Porthos, who both nodded. They all sat down on adjacent chairs.

"You can hang round with us, if you like?" Athos offered.

"Do you mean that?" asked d'Artagnan, with a sudden look of hope. He was gazing at Athos with something approaching hero-worship, and Porthos nudged Aramis and grinned.

"Yes. Of course. You'd be welcome to." Athos nodded. "I'd say all three of us know what it's like to feel alone, and it's not pleasant." 

"Thank you." D'Artagnan's face lit up. "They asked me if I wanted to stay. I'm glad I said yes now."

"Who did? Your parents?" Aramis asked. D'Artagnan shook his head. 

"Treville, is it? And the matron. Constance, I think he called her." He looked dreamily into the distance. "She's lovely."

Porthos snickered. "And married. And too old for you."

D'Artagnan grinned. "I can dream, can't I?"

Aramis caught Athos' eye. "He's going to be trouble," he warned, laughing.

Athos just smiled. "He'll fit right in, then."

\--


End file.
